


Give In To Me

by Harpoxy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpoxy/pseuds/Harpoxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1995, Dean Winchester was kicked out of his house when his father discovered his incestuous relationship with his younger brother, Sam. For four years, Sam has held the belief that Dean molested him, and has spent all that time trying to deal with the repercussions of their twisted relationship. Just when he thinks he's successfully put the past behind him, the death of Dean's old caretaker brings him back into Sam's life with a mighty vengeance, leading to a web of lust, lies, and deceit within the Winchester family. While Sam struggles to come to grips with his past, all the while fighting his attraction to a brother he loves and hates, it soon becomes apparent that Dean is going to be the very least of his problems, for there's a murderer lurking in their quiet little town, leaving a slew of dead bodies that are quickly linked to Dean. As Sam searches for answers, he soon realizes that not all secrets were meant to be discovered, and the brother who refuses to let him go might have played a bigger role in the killings than either of them could ever imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blast From The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Dean creates problems for the entire family.

_Strong hands gripped a pair of creamy white thighs, forcing them open as a long, wet tongue penetrated the body of a young boy lying spread eagle on his bed. His agonized groan deepened in pitch, bottom lip sucked between his teeth as the rosy skin of his tight hole clenched around his brother's talented tongue._

_His brother. The boy closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the guilt flowing through him over what he was doing with his own flesh and blood, moaning once more as a wave of pleasure enveloped his sweat-slicked skin._

_"Shh," his brother whispered. "Hush, baby. You don't want dad to come in here and see you with your pants around your ankles, do you?"_

_He made a noise that came out muffled from the hand his sinful sibling placed over his mouth, shaking his head to make his answer clear._

_"Good boy. Now hold still so I can eat your little asshole."_

_His brother pressed his mouth over the outer ring of muscle and sucked hard, sliding that wicked tongue in and out, curling it upwards and licking at that spot deep inside of him that made him see stars. It all felt so good that he cried out again, and the older boy stopped what he was doing to smirk at the child in front of him._

_"God, you just can't get enough, can ya?"_

_The boy's eyelashes fluttered. "I-I don't think we should do this now, Dean. Daddy could walk in."_

_Dean's smirk grew. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?  Him coming in and finding out his innocent little Sammy likes gettin' it good from his fuckin' brother?"_

_Sam's cheeks reddened in shame, making his brother chuckle at his discomfort. A tremor passed through his open legs as he stared at the boy on his knees at the foot of the bed, hating himself for the arousal that crept up his spine every time he looked into those green eyes. He'd tried so hard to ignore the urges that possessed his body every time he so much as heard his brother's voice. But, like Pavlov's dog, he'd become conditioned to salivating at the mere mention of his gorgeous sibling, making him realize just how screwed up in the head Dean had made him. No matter how late Sam felt it was, he still longed for a way to break free from the love that kept him chained to the boy before him, a way to ensure his normality and his salvation so he'd never have to feel this guilt ever again. But wishes were no more real than dreams, and he was beginning to see that Dean would always be his Achilles' heel, the pebble in his shoe that just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried to shake it out._

_Sighing in defeat, Sam glanced briefly to his left before turning back to his brother. "Did you lock the door?"_

_Dean grinned, giving him that lecherous look that meant his cock was about to work some fucking magic in his little brother's asshole, and climbed predatorily up the small bed, blanketing his body over Sam's._

_"No", he whispered._

The sound of Bobby's doorbell had Sam shooting straight up in bed, the book he fell asleep reading falling from his chest to rest between his spread legs. Both Bobby and his father were out back bonding over a recent hunting trip, leaving the sixteen year old alone so he could study for his upcoming history test. After the dream he'd just had, it seemed like being alone was apparently not such a great idea after all. 

Looking around the room in confusion, he rose from the mattress with groggy eyes and a splitting headache, making his way down the stairs to the front door. He grimaced at the knock that followed the bell, holding a palm up to his forehead as he tried to stop the pulsating ache attacking his brain.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

Gripping the knob with a weak hand, he slowly turned it and opened the door to reveal a man with spiky brown hair and a face that could put the most beautiful Victoria's Secret model to shame. The leather jacket he wore resembled the one Sam's father used to have when he was a boy, but the piercing green eyes that stared back at him was what inevitably gave the man away, the emerald orbs as familiar to Sam as his own reflection. 

Struggling to keep his composure, Sam refrained from letting his jaw drop to the floor in shock, the instant erection he sported bringing back all the shame he could have sworn he'd buried four years ago.

"Dean?"

Dean's nervous smile would have been adorable, had Sam not felt like vomiting all over the living room floor. "Hiya, Sammy."

 _This can't be happening_. Sam couldn't find the words to speak, so he just stood there in silence, putting his hands behind his back so that his brother-no, _Dean_ -couldn't see his fingers twitch with the need to touch. After all this time, that magical concoction of love and lust still bubbled within the walls of his beating heart for the man in front of him, beckoning Sam to give in to what he knew he shouldn't want so badly. 

Pushing his sinful thoughts to the darkest recesses of his tortured mind, Sam let the disgust he felt for Dean overshadow his burning love and looked up at his brother with a hatred that made the smile disappear from the young man's face, uncertainty replacing the charming upturning of his full lips. 

"You gonna invite me in, Sam?" Dean asked, a knowing expression making his green eyes bore into Sam's hazel ones. 

Before Sam could reply, he heard a clash of dishes behind him and turned to see Bobby and his father John staring at Dean in surprise, the plates Sam's dad once held in his hands nothing but a broken mess on the ground beneath him. John's shock transformed into a glare that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up, but Bobby's face held a certain pain that made the young boy think he missed Dean more than he cared to admit. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" John asked.

Maintaining eye contact with Sam, Dean replied, "I'm here to see my little brother. Is that a crime?"

"You little-"

"Now, everybody just calm down," Bobby interrupted, extending his palms outwards. "I'll be damned if I'm going to allow a physical altercation in my house, especially when it involves a father and his child."

"I told you that you could speak to me over the phone whenever you wanted, Dean," John said, ignoring his friend. "But coming here is highly inappropriate and you know it. I can't tell you how many times I've stressed that this could never happen."

Bobby noticed John's voice rising in anger. "John," he warned.

"No! I want know what he's doing here and I want to know right now!"

When Dean didn't budge, or take his eyes off his brother, John strode over and grabbed the collar of Dean's jacket with both hands, shaking his son hard enough to hurt.

"Answer me, goddammit!"

Dean smiled bitterly at his father, the pitiful look on his face almost making Sam feel sorry for him. "Rosa's dead."

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion. _Who the fuck was Rosa?_

John let go of Dean and sank against the doorway, exchanging bewildered glances with Bobby. "Oh, no."

Dean looked at Sam before dragging his gaze back to his father. "I see coming here was a big mistake. I'll just leave, then."

Dean shot Sam a longing look that the younger boy involuntarily reciprocated and was about to walk out the door when a firm 'no' came from Bobby's direction. All heads turned to look at the gruff hunter, everyone in the room just as perplexed as he was about his adamant refusal. 

"You're not going anywhere, kid. Like it or not, this boy is family, John, and family don't turn on their blood."

John came up to Sam and put a protective arm around his shoulders, drawing him in close and staring daggers at his oldest son. "I'm sure some exceptions can be made."

"Don't do this now," Bobby said. "Not in front of the boy. Dean, get in here. You, John, and I are going to have a little chat and Sam is gonna go to his room."

John shot an incredulous look Bobby's way. "You cannot be fucking serious."

Bobby's face contorted in bewildered disgust as he walked up to where John stood beside Sam, looking as if he was trying to fight off anger. "This is my house and you'll do what you're told, boy."

For a moment, Sam thought John was going to argue, but when the grip on his body loosened, he knew his father was defeated. 

Sighing, John said, "Alright," and made his way to the junkyard in the back, waiting for Bobby and Dean to follow. 

"Go to your room, Sam," Bobby said, breaking the silence that came over them when John left. "I'll come and get you when supper's ready."

"But-"

Bobby's no-nonsense expression made whatever Sam was going to say turn to ash in his mouth, and with his head hanging down, ascended the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

 

John's voice boomed like thunder throughout the entire house, shaking the very foundations with its brutal intensity. 

"This is insane!" he yelled, his declaration making Sam's head rise from the book he was reading. Standing up, he slowly crept up to his bedroom door and cracked it open, stepping out just enough to where he could spy on the fight breaking out downstairs. 

"How can you stand there and say all of this, John?" Bobby roared. "He's your son!"

"I wish that bastard had never been born! I could have killed him for what he did to Sam. How can you of all people allow him in this house after everything he's done?"

"How can you not? He's your own flesh and blood."

John laughed. "You want to talk about flesh and blood? Yeah . . . let's do that. Let's talk about the night I walked in and found Dean with his filthy little prick buried balls deep in my youngest son's ass."

"I don't want to hear this," Bobby muttered, falling into a chair.

"Tough shit!" John retorted hotly, hunching over to yell at his best friend. "You weren't there, Bobby. You didn't hear the sound of it all, the moaning and groaning he did, the filth he spewed from his lips, Sam's helpless whimpering as his underdeveloped body was given pleasure it had no business receiving. You didn't see the look on that poor boy's face when he was getting fucked by his big brother. You didn't see his eyes and mouth wide open, his body completely rigid, the surprised gasps that made him sound like he was struggling to breathe. If you could have been there to see just what went down, there's no fucking way you would dare step up to me and tell me I'm being a rotten human being for wanting to abandon that pervert a second time. He molested his little brother, dammit! He's toxic and I want him gone. Do you hear me? Gone!"

Bobby stared at John so long Sam thought for sure that he would acquiesce to his father's demands. But after what felt like forever, Bobby instead rose and slowly came up to John, his hands balling into fists at his sides. 

"Do you honestly think I didn't feel the same way you did when all of this shit first went down?" he asked, his voice so quiet, Sam could barely hear him. "Don't you think I would have strangled him too, if I'd had the chance? You're not the only one who loves Sam, goddammit! I love him too! But as much as you don't want to admit it, Dean is still the same little boy who used to come to my house and eat up all of my apple pie, the one who took care of Sam when you were too busy tracking down a demon we all knew you'd never catch, the one who did every single fucking thing you asked him to because he looked up to you like a son should and the one who comforted his mother while you were off doing god knows what. He was the one who constantly picked up your slack, and the one who I always knew would grow up to be more of a man than you'd ever be. He may have done wrong, but he is still the closest thing I've ever had to a son alongside Samuel and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you throw him away!"

Tears were falling down Sam's cheeks by the time Bobby was through, the angry and tortured tone he'd developed by the end of his tirade echoing loudly in Sam's ears. Going back to his room and shutting the door, he fell on his bed and cried harder than he'd ever allowed himself to, bitterness and befuddlement rattling his very core. He hated his brother for what he'd done, for taking away his innocence long before he'd had the mental capacity to refuse Dean's lascivious advances. He hated the molestation, the virginity that should have been his to give away, and all of the memories that still clung to the walls of his mind, the good merging with the bad to leave Sam with a confusion so great, he was sure he'd end up insane before the last breath of life left his body.

Dean was here. He still couldn't get over it, and what was worse, he didn't know how to feel about it all. He hated him, but he also loved him, and that love wouldn't go away just because of the things he made Sam do in the dark. It was still there because his brother was the one who practically raised him for the first twelve years of his life, and that was something Sam couldn't just forget.

A knock on Sam's door made him jump in surprise, tension straining his muscles as he thought of what he'd do if Dean was on the other end. A sigh of relief fell from his lips as Bobby entered, followed by a gasp as he tried to hold in sniffles he didn't want the old man to see.

Silence fell like a dark cloud over Sam and Bobby as they stared each other down, neither one wanting to start a conversation they both dreaded having. When it all became too much, Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat as he bowed his head, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his black sweater. 

"I can't do this, Bobby. I thought all of this was behind me and now I see that it's not and-" Sam interrupted himself to let out a humorless laugh- "I still love him."

Bobby nodded. "I do too, kiddo . . . which is why I have to let him stay. He doesn't have anywhere else to go and I refuse to just put him out on the street. I'm so sorry, Sam. I feel like I've failed you."

Sam looked up, astonished. Springing up from his bed, he all but ran into the arms of the man who'd been more of a father to him than his own, crying softly into his denim jacket. "You didn't fail me. You've never failed a thing in your life."

Bobby snorted. "Trust me, I'm guilty of my fair share of wrongdoings. But I promise you this, kid; no matter what happens, nobody is ever going to hurt you again. Not in my house."

Sam allowed himself to be held, taking in the events of the past couple hours. Darkness descended upon the city, the sun disappearing into the west as the young boy thought back to when this all started, and what it meant for the people living under Bobby's roof. There was a war being raged within the Singer household, a war which Sam was sure would inevitably lead to bloodshed. One thing was for sure though; Dean's presence was going to alter Sam's very existence without his consent, and only time would tell whether he'd be able to pick up the pieces like last time . . . or whether this all-consuming storm would destroy him forever. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Stay Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leaves on a hunt, Sam bonds with Bobby and meets Adam, Bobby tells Dean to stay away from Sam.

The amber rays of the morning sun that peeked through the curtains of Bobby's bedroom felt like a mockery to the old man, almost as if mother nature bragged of its radiant light while the Singer household rested in pure darkness. Birds chirped outside with a tone that would have been soothing, had the events of the previous night been nothing more than a bad dream. But, unfortunately for the Winchesters, it seemed life had taken a turn for the worse.

Bobby wished he knew how all of this started. More importantly, he wished he was there when this insanity between Dean and Sam first began so that he could have intervened. He felt helpless as he watched the family he loved more than anything fall apart, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was like watching a scene through a television, wanting to alter the events transpiring before your very eyes but being unable to do so because it was, quite simply, out of your hands. It was a horrendous feeling, this . . . despair. It chapped his ass and made him want to put his fist through a wall, through Dean's face, through the very fabric of existence itself. But, like a movie viewer, the entwined lives of the people he cared about were taking place behind a glass he couldn't break down, no matter how much he wanted to. Like it or not, he and the Winchesters were nothing more than puppets-with somebody else pulling the strings.

He supposed he should have seen all of this coming. Ever since the death of Mary Winchester, John and the boys had become nothing more than shells of their former selves, leaving poor little Dean caught in the crossfire. At just four years old, life had forced him to play daddy to a child he had no business caring for. From the beginning of Sam's life here on earth, Dean lived and breathed him. He had no choice because John didn't give him one. As time went on, it eventually led to something that would tear the family apart, a dark energy that perverted the love an older brother should have for his younger sibling, and turned it into a burning lust that consumed his very being. It was then that every single one of those damn Winchesters began walking on a very thin metaphorical tightrope, one that Dean began slicing through with the dull blade of an invisible knife every time he so much as looked at his little brother. When he'd finally cut too far, the whole thing fell apart and took the family down with it, and the boy everyone declared responsible for it all was sent away like he was nothing more than a perversion of nature, an abomination that had no place in society or his own blood. He was cast away, not only taking the blame on his own shoulders, but taking it off his father's as well.

It was for these very reasons that Bobby found himself on the side of the defense, taking on the role of Dean's lawyer when he wasn't sure the boy actually deserved it. John may have been right about Dean being partially at fault, but Bobby also knows that John, in his godforsaken stubbornness, refused to acknowledge his own responsibility for the way things turned out, and that pissed the old man off to no end.

The chiming of the clock on the wall signaled a new hour, making Bobby sigh as he rubbed his eyes. There was no sense in dredging up these thoughts now, especially when he could hear the tempting call of his own bathroom at the end of the hallway, a call he was more than eager to respond to.

Getting out of bed, Bobby walked toward his destination with a full bladder and an empty stomach, stopping by a cracked bedroom door that housed the body of the boy responsible for his family's disarrayed state. Making his way to the king-sized mattress, he stood by the side of the bed and smiled despite himself at the sight before him.

Dean lay on his back with his right leg bent at the knee and folded underneath his left, the hand resting on his stomach covering the skin revealed through the rising of his black t-shirt. His hair was mussed from sleep, and he carried his own brand of morning wood that Bobby tried his best to ignore. He was about to drape the discarded blankets over the boy when a tiny whimper fell from Dean's parted lips, followed by a sigh of Sam's name as the hand on his stomach traveled to his crotch.

Bobby stood frozen in place, unable to turn away when Dean's fingers slipped through the front of his jeans, pressing down on the protruding head of his hard cock.

"Sammy," he moaned, his happy sighs getting louder the longer he pleasured himself.

"God," Bobby whispered, running out of the room and falling against the door he'd shut behind him. "Oh, god."

 

A hand came up to his mouth as tears fell in thin rivulets down his wrinkled cheeks, breaths coming in short gasps that burned his throat with their tortuous rapidity. The scene he'd just witnessed etched itself into his retinas without his consent, forcing him to relive the moment over and over in his head like the worst kind of broken record. Why did this have to happen to them?

 

  
_Damn John._ If he'd been there the way a father was supposed to be there for his children then none of this would be happening. Dean wouldn't be pining for his own flesh and blood, Sam wouldn't be in his room trying to make sense of himself or the strange turn his life had taken and Bobby wouldn't be crying in his own hallway as he listened to the sounds of Dean getting off to a vision of his little brother's face. How they'd ever survive this, he didn't know. The only thing he was aware of was the pain inside Sam's heart, and his own regret for not having stopped this entire calamity before it started. 

 

_Damn you, John. Damn you to hell._

 

"Bobby?"

 

Bobby wiped his face as best he could so John wouldn't see what was going on. Putting on an air of nonchalance that he hoped would hide the jumble of feelings warring inside him, Bobby found the courage to put one foot in front of the other and met John at the top of the staircase.

 

"Here. Just checking on the boys."

 

John grimaced. "I hope to God you plan on keeping you-know-who away from my boy."

 

Bobby sighed. "Dean's your boy too, John."

 

"Fuck he is. Just make sure he doesn't so much as look at Sam or I swear to God, I'll rip that boy's balls off and feed them to the dogs."

 

"We don't have any dogs," Bobby muttered.

 

"Don't be a smartass. I got a lead on that missing person's case back in Kansas City and I have a feeling it's your run of the mill baby vamp. It's too sloppy for anything else. If I'm going to leave, I need to know that you'll keep your promise and make sure Dean stays as far away from Sam as possible."

 

"Yeah, don't worry. The kids'll be fine. You just do what you have to do and get back here as soon as you can. There's a lot going on around here, John. I don't need you running away from it."

 

John's phone interrupted his reply. Glancing down at the caller ID, he sighed and looked back up at Bobby. "I'm not going to run from anything, Bobby. Just . . . just keep Dean away."

 

"Sure," Bobby said to himself, watching as his best friend disappeared down the stairs. "That's what you always say."

 

* * *

Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror, self-disgust pouring off of him in waves. He'd hardly slept the night before, and, judging by the huge bags under his eyes, it showed. While anyone who'd gone through the emotional roller coaster that he did would have reacted the same way, he somehow knew that his particular take on things should have been different. Being a Winchester, he knew he was supposed to be strong, deal with it all in a manly way so that he could grow up to be a "superhero" like his father. How the hell was he supposed to do that when all he wanted was to run away from the life his dad tells him he should be living and start over in a place where he didn't have to be a hunter, or a rape victim? He didn't want to hunt monsters. He didn't want to find the thing that killed his mother. But, above all else, he didn't want to deal with the pile of shit he was currently buried in. He needed to get the hell out. So, why was he still here?

 

The answer came through a memory of pink lips dragging across his skin, the quiet moans of his brother filling the bedroom as he sucked a hickey into Sam's neck that he knew would be noticed by his classmates the next day. A pleasure previously unknown to his twelve-year-old body vibrated inside of him, the hands rubbing against the thin material of his underwear ripping his orgasm from his body so suddenly that his knees buckled beneath him and he fell back into his brother's strong arms, supported by hard muscle that would soon be contracting on top of his own from violent thrusts delivered with brutal intensity, giving his body more pleasure than he knew what to do with as he moaned and groaned, begged and pleaded, over and over again until the images playing before Sam's eyes became distorted, torturing him with their cruel existence. . .

 

Sam shook his head, wiping it all from his mind. A fit of rage overtook him, and he found himself grabbing his lamp off the nightstand so he could hurl it as far as it would go, barely missing Bobby's head as he threw open the bedroom door.

 

"Sam!" Bobby snarled. "What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Are you tryin' to kill me?"

 

Sam fell to the bed and put his head down in his hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

 

Bobby sighed and plopped down beside Sam. "You sure you don't want to stay home today?"

 

"I can't, Bobby. I'll go fucking crazy if I have to stay here with him."

 

"I don't think I can even begin to imagine what you're going through, Sam. But I do know that, should you decide to stay home, I'll personally make it my mission that he doesn't come anywhere near you."

 

Sam's smile held no humor in it as he stared down at the floor, tears coursing down his cheeks. "This isn't easy, Bobby. I don't know how I'm supposed to take all this in."

 

"You do it one day at a time, kiddo. I know that you'll get through this. You're one hell of a good kid; but more than that, you're strong. You dealt with it all the first time before you'd even hit puberty, back when most boys your age would have crawled into a little ball and wept their hearts out until the day they died. If you could somehow find the will to live at twelve, you can sure as hell find a way to live at sixteen. I believe in you, Sam. I always have."

 

Sam looked up at Bobby with the faintest glimmer of hope reflecting off his hazel eyes. "You think so?"

 

Bobby smiled fondly. "I know so. Now, get your ass up and outta this house before you miss the bus. The last thing I need is to have your teachers callin' me again wanting to know how many hunting trips a boy can go on in a five month period."

 

Sam wrapped his arms around Bobby as they got to their feet, squeezing the old man for all he was worth. "I love you, Bobby. You're like the father I never had."

 

Bobby's face fell at Sam's words, his eyes automatically moving to a picture on the boy's dresser of John and Mary smiling bright at the camera, with a freckle faced Dean holding little Sammy in his protective arms. The picture was taken four months before the fire that took Mary's life, and it never failed to upset Bobby when he looked at the beautiful family John had, knowing that the stubborn old coot never appreciated them as much as he should have. It went back full circle to the boy he was with now, telling Bobby in no uncertain terms that the little time he spent with these kids was enough for them to think of him as their father. John had no idea what he'd done to his sons, and now it was up to Bobby to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts and try to put them back together again. If he couldn't . . . then this family would be lost.

 

"I love you too, kid," he replied, his arms tightening around Sam. "I always will."

 

* * *

"So, if you were to write a paper on the reason behind the incestuous coupling of the Dollanganger's, you could say that Chris and Cathy had no choice about the way they felt for each other. It was through the unnatural way they were brought up that set the tone for their relationship, was it not? Locked up in an attic where all they knew was each other, it seemed almost inevitable that things would turn out the way it did, didn't it? What are your thoughts on the matter? And how would their upbringing be a basis for your views on sociology and its impact on the world? Would you say that our personalities and the way we view the world are the result of nature or nurture? Maybe a combination of both? Could it be possible for us to put our personal views aside and tackle such a taboo relationship subjectively?"

 

Sam sat in silence as he listened to his English teacher discuss a book that hit a little too close to home for him to take seriously, astonished at how easily life could find a way to throw his and Dean's sex life in his face. He hated how his brother managed to follow him wherever he went, but he hated this contempt he'd developed for himself even more. He just couldn't seem to find it in his heart to forgive himself for his naïvety, or recognize his innocence in something that Bobby would always insist wasn't his fault. He thought that by getting out of the house, he could take a break from constantly thinking about it all, but that effort has proven to be utterly useless. He suddenly hated his teacher with a passion he didn't even know he was capable of, and he wished that he could find the courage to throw his book right at the man's head for making him relive the past for the millionth time in a row. The corners of Sam's mouth stretched into a smile at the thought, but that one iota of happiness evaporated when a tap on his shoulder made him jump in his seat, cursing under his breath as he turned around to confront someone Sam couldn't remember ever seeing before.

 

"So, what do you think of the book?" the boy questioned.

 

"I think the subject matter is a waste of my time," Sam snapped.

 

When the boy tilted his head quizzically, Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. Just having a bad day. It's not your fault."

 

"Hey, that's okay," the boy smiled. "I'm Adam."

 

Sam smiled back, taking the hand Adam offered. "Sam."

 

"Yeah, I know who you are. You sit next to me in History class as well, though you're always so into yourself that you probably haven't really noticed."

 

"Sorry about that. Been really busy with school and family and all that stuff. Didn't mean to shut everyone out."

 

"It's cool. So, now that I've introduced myself, I can ask if you wanna go out sometime."

 

Sam tensed. "What, like a date?"

 

Adam let out a breathless laugh, hanging his head in embarrassment before looking at Sam from behind long black eyelashes. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I've always noticed you and . . . well, I think you're kinda cool. I've wanted to ask you out for a while now, but have always been too shy to do it. Now that I've finally mustered up the courage, I think it's only fair that you agree. You know, because you're such an . . . accommodating boy and all."

 

Sam smiled despite himself. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

 

"Yes, that's so. You're always helping Felicity with her homework, or staying behind to help a teacher clean up before next period. Might as well be helpful to me while you're at it."

 

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking it over. He may have felt a little guilty that he was actually considering agreeing to a date when he already had so much to deal with at home, but he was entitled to one night of fun after everything he'd been through, wasn't he? Would it really be a crime for him to go out with a boy who seemed kind, funny, smart and, above all else, _not_ his brother?

 

"Sure," Sam said hesitantly. "Sure, that'll be great. But just one night."

 

Adam grinned, biting at his lower lip in excitement. "We'll see."

 

* * *

Bobby was going to do it. He wasn't ready for it, but he was going to do it.

 

Standing in front of a closed bedroom door, the old man contemplated just how he was going to approach Dean, frazzled nerves creating butterflies in the pit of his stomach that he wished would go away long enough for him to get through this dreaded altercation unscathed. He couldn't explain the fright that overtook him at the thought of confronting the boy after so many years, but the many questions that had festered inside him for far too long refused to be denied answers a minute longer, and it was this overwhelming desire for truth that caused Bobby to come up to the second floor in the first place, hands shaking with dread as he spent the better part of a half hour staring at a hunk of wood that laughed at him, daring him to knock and face his fears.

 

"Balls," Bobby growled, rapping on the door hard enough to hurt his knuckles.

 

Dean opened the door and Bobby immediately got lost in familiar green orbs that glittered with unshed tears, his familiar stoic countenance somewhat disengaged as he struggled to hide his sorrow from the man standing before him.

 

"I'm surprised," Dean said. "I would have thought being near me was such a terrible fate that I'd be avoided like the plague."

 

"Yeah, well," Bobby replied, the rest of his sentence going unsaid as both men stared each other down.

 

Dean let go of the knob and turned around, wordlessly inviting Bobby in. Stepping foot into the room Dean immediately claimed as his own on his arrival, Bobby was astonished to find it completely spotless, with a framed photo of Dean and Sam when they were kids on the nightstand beside the bed.

 

"Wow," Bobby commented, picking up the frame with surprising ease. "I forgot all about this picture. How did you get it?"

 

"I stole it the night dad kicked me out."

 

"Why?"

 

Dean met Bobby's gaze head on. "Because his face was on it."

 

  
_Because his face was on it._ The amount of love that came from that simple sentence stunned Bobby more than he cared to admit. That love came from a bad place, and suddenly, Bobby wished John was there so he could scream at him for what he'd done to his children.

 

Putting down the picture, Bobby came up to Dean and did the first thing that came into his mind: he punched him in the face.

 

Dean stumbled and caught himself on the dresser, wiping the blood from his nose as he stared at Bobby in confusion.

 

"Damn you," Bobby snarled. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you've done to this family? What you've done to Sam? Do you know how many hours I've sat here trying to figure out why? Worried to death about Sam because he refused to eat and spent all of his time hauled up in a dark room thinking about the mess his life had become? Do you know about the guilt I felt for missing you, after everything you did to that poor boy?"

 

Dean remained silent, letting Bobby get out everything that he'd kept inside for so long. It made him feel so grateful that he became disgusted with himself, and he paused long enough to resist the urge to punch Dean a second time.

 

"Do you know how happy I was when you came back? I was happy and miserable because I missed you. Regardless of what your presence was going to do to the boy you've ruined, I was still so relieved to see your face that I had to quiet the need to take your ass into my arms and squeeze you so hard, you'd die from lack of air. You turned our entire world upside down and you destroyed Sam's life, and yet, I still fucking love you. Do you have any idea how much that pisses me off?"

 

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured.

 

"Yeah, you're gonna be," Bobby retorted. When Dean looked up in shock, Bobby continued. "I'm letting you stay here because I know Rosa was all you had, and I don't want you living on your own without any family to lean on, but I'll tell you this; there's a big rule in this house that you're going to abide by, or I'll kick you out on your ass so fast, your head'll spin. I want you to stay away from Sam. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. Don't even think about him. Do you understand me?"

 

Dean smirked bitterly. "Oh, is that all?"

 

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," Bobby warned. "I know you and John have done some pretty heavy shit to this family, but Sam is an innocent boy who's done nothing to deserve everything you both have put him through, and I'm going to make damn sure that nothing like that ever happens again. I know you love him, and lord knows I love you, but that child is my first priority. If you so much as breathe on him, you will be gone. Now, I'm gonna ask again. Do you understand me?"

 

"Yes," Dean replied.

 

Bobby looked at Dean for a long moment. He wanted to believe this boy would follow his rules so badly his head hurt, but when a flash of defiance sparked in the green eyes that focused on his own, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dean wasn't going to listen to him. His feelings for Sam were too strong for him to ignore, and Bobby knew that there was nothing on this planet that was going to keep the older boy away from his baby brother. This was going to prove disastrous for everyone involved, and Bobby felt like an asshole because, despite his harsh words, he loved Dean, and he knew he wasn't going to have the heart to kick him out on the street.

 

Making up his mind to watch over Sam with the vigilance of a hawk, Bobby went for the door, thinking his conversation with Dean had reached its end. Just as he was about to leave, Dean spoke from behind him.

 

"What happens if he comes to me?"

 

Bobby turned to face Dean, recognizing the words for what they were: a threat.

 

"He won't."

 

Dean smirked, giving the old man a look that clearly meant 'challenge accepted'. As Bobby slammed the door behind him, he heard Dean utter one simple sentence, and in those words came the promise of a twisted game he dreaded playing with every inch of his being.

 

"We'll see about that."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Gossip Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean share a private moment that quickly turns sour, the Winchesters have dinner with three women who are more than they appear to be, and Dean has a fight with Bobby.

The next few days passed by in a total blur for Sam Winchester. Between phone conversations with Adam that he tried desperately to hide from everyone else and constantly sneaking around in his own house to avoid his big brother, Sam was completely exhausted. Luckily, he'd convinced himself that he'd hit rock bottom and that things couldn't get any worse, which made him feel a little less jumpy. But ignorance is bliss, and he knew it was only a matter of time before something else came along to rain on a parade that wasn't even that big to begin with. After all, he was a Winchester, and their lives always turned to shit.

That something came a day after his first date with Adam. He was kicking himself in the ass for accepting an invitation to another-the boy was very persistent-when he noticed Bobby talking to someone on the phone. His entire demeanor screamed 'kill me,' and that look was never good when it showed up on Bobby. It usually only meant one thing.

"The gossip queens are coming over for dinner tonight," he mumbled, placing the phone back on the receiver with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Sam groaned. _I fucking knew it._

Bessie Jackson, Margaret Keller, and Henrietta Huffington, three of the biggest loudmouths this side of the Mississippi, were obviously dubbed the town gossip queens for a reason. There wasn't a day that went by where something new wasn't happening in their shit hole of a town, and when drama resurfaced to plague the residents, those annoying little bitches were always there to bask in its rotten ambience. They were nothing more than leeches, feeding off of chaos wherever they went, and spreading rumors about people that eventually got them to reveal their secrets to the entire world. The only reason Bobby put up with them at all was because their information had a habit of inadvertently helping him discover the possibility of a new hunt. Or, at the very least, helped him with one he was already working on.

"What did they tell you this time?" Sam asked.

Bobby sighed. "There's a new person in town that's givin' off a whole lotta bad vibes, suspicious behavior and all that. Figure I'd at least check it out. Then there's some guy who might have murdered someone. They said he looked like a werewolf. That was enough for me."

"Well, why the hell do they have to come here?" Sam whined.

"Look, boy, I don't want them here anymore than you do, but they seem to talk a hell of a lot more when I pump them full of beer and food. They sure do like to eat."

Sam rolled his eyes and took off in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Bobby to his own devices. Why the hell those annoying women had to once again curse them with their presence, Sam had absolutely no idea. All he knew was that they delighted in misery and despair, which was probably the biggest reason they loved his family in the first place. The whole thing smelled foul to Sam. Worse, he couldn't shake this strange sense of foreboding that this visit was going to be slightly different than the others.

Maybe he could convince Bobby to let him go to Jeremy's for dinner...

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a sound he hadn't heard since he was twelve. 

A man. Grunting.

 _Dean_ grunting. 

Sam followed the sound to the boy's bedroom and stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of his brother-his _half-naked_ brother-doing pull-ups on a bar he'd built into the walls when he was fifteen. His skin glistened with sweat, and every time he lifted his body up, he made those noises that had the physiological effect of making Sam's mouth water. Once again, like Pavlov's dog, he found himself conditioned to respond to auditory stimuli that his brain automatically associated with all the times Dean had been on top of him making those sounds, recollections of what it felt like to have his big brother inside of him forcing an involuntary shiver up his rigid spine. The whole house was starting to feel very hot, making Sam finger at his shirt unconsciously, aching with the desire to take it off.

At some point during his trance, Dean must have noticed him standing there leering at his brother through the doorway, because his eyes were suddenly locked with Sam's, and the younger boy could practically feel the tension crackling between them like sparklers as Dean slowly got down from the bar, taking cautious steps toward the skittish teenager as if he were approaching a wild animal and was afraid of being eaten.

"Sammy?"

Sam stared at him in silence, trying his best to find words that wouldn't make him look like an idiot. After what felt like forever, he blurted out the only thing he could think of, something that made him feel like he was back in some sleazy motel with Dean while his father was away, arguing the way two siblings did when they were stuck in a room with only each other for stimulation.

"It's Sam."

Dean smiled. Not a smirk or a leer, but a real honest to god smile. Seeing it gave Sam a warm feeling deep in his heart, and he found himself smiling back before he could resist the urge. For a moment, it was like all those years of pain and separation never happened. They were just normal brothers again, bound by a bond stronger than any other, one forged with blood and years of having only each other to rely on. Then Dean started moving closer, and everything fell to pieces.

"Don't!" Sam yelled, not having the faintest idea where his outburst came from.

Dean froze. "Sam?"

Sam didn't know how it happened, but, before he knew it, he was running into his bedroom and slamming the door, pressing his back up against it in fear. He could hear Dean on the other end banging on the wood, begging Sam to come out.

"Sam! Baby, please don't leave. I promise I won't try anything. I just want to talk. Sam? Sammy! Sammy, open the door. Sammy, talk to me!"

Sam sobbed silently as he slid to the floor, confusion eating away at his brain. Why did he reconnect with Dean? After everything he's done to Sam, why in the world does he still harbor feelings for his older brother? Why did he still love him when he was supposed to hate him? And why did he still become sexually aroused whenever he so much as laid eyes on the bastard? He'd hated it when they were kids because of the shame, but loved it because of the pleasure. It was a truth that Sam had always ran away from, a truth that he never wanted to admit. The guilt that gnawed at him back then was so strong that he always felt worthless when it was all over, panting and covered in his brother's sweat. His own brother. It made him feel sick that he kept allowing Dean to take advantage of him the way that he did, but he was just a child. What was he to do when his brother had a way about him that weakened whatever resistance a twelve-year-old was supposed to have?

There he went again. He kept blaming Dean for everything when he knew very damn well that he was just as guilty because, while he tried to stop, he never did. He may be ashamed to admit it, but he'd enjoyed every single drop of pleasure Dean had milked from him, loved it so much that he never allowed the guilt to fester until after he'd reaped the benefits that having a physical relationship provided for him. But why should he blame himself when he could just as well reason that his young mind didn't have the mental capacity to comprehend or cope with a situation that extreme? When does the line become drawn between guilt and innocence? He was able to understand the wrongness of it back then. If his mind could do that, then why the hell didn't he stop?

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, voice cracking. "Sammy, please come out."

Sam's train of thought left him when Dean spoke, leaving him confused and guilt stricken. Off to his left, Nutshell was playing from the radio he'd forgotten to turn off earlier in the morning. The sound of it silenced Dean's pleading, though Sam was sure he was still on the other side of the door.

Drowning out everything around him, Sam cried violently at the ceiling as everything with the exception of his own pain faded away into nothing. He cried for the father he never had. He cried for the brother and the life he'd lost. He cried until the sweet abyss of sleep transported him to a welcoming darkness, one that enveloped him so fast, he failed to hear both the whisper of his name and the retreating footsteps as his brother walked away from him for the second time in four years.

* * *

 

"God," Bobby muttered. "They're here."

Loud chatter erupted outside before Dean could ask what the hell Bobby was talking about, forcing him to stand by the old man's side and peer out through the parted curtains at the origin of the annoying racket.

"Fuck me," Dean growled. "You invited the unholy trinity? Goddammit, Bobby!"

"Don't use that tone with me, boy."

"Well, what the hell were you expecting? You think they're just gonna blab all their secrets without a good cause? You know everything comes with a price with those three, don't you?"

Bobby looked at Dean like he was an idiot. "Why the hell do you think I bought all that extra beer?" When Dean looked down as if in thought, Bobby shook his head. "Boy, you are stuck on stupid."

Dean wanted to respond, but it was clear from the way the gruff hunter turned around and walked away that his words weren't gonna matter. So, instead of standing there and defending his intelligence-which was quite considerable, if you asked him-he decided to march his pretty little ass to the front door and open the old man's house to witches who he was pretty sure were going to somehow find a way to poison their dinner. Either that or bore them to death. Whichever came first.

Bessie Jackson was the first one to lay her eyes on who she immediately referred to as "the prodigal son," yapping her gums to Dean about how happy she was that he was finally able to reconcile whatever differences he'd seemed to develop with his father when he was a teenager. She talked so long that Dean was pretty sure he was on the verge of falling asleep in the doorway, and probably would have if he wasn't suddenly saved by the sound of a loud bang coming from the kitchen, followed by a scream of 'MOTHERFUCKER!' that had all three women barging past him to join in on the chaos, feasting on it like a pack of rabid dogs.

"Bobby!" Margaret Keller screamed. "Oh, you poor dear. What happened to the Jambalaya?"

Bobby, who was on the floor covered in shrimp and glaring at the wicked smirk on Dean's face, struggled to his feet before looking at the trio from hell.

"So . . . anybody want to order a pizza?"

* * *

 

"And then he just vanished. Nobody knows where he is."

Bobby tried to listen to what he was being told. He really, really tried. But having to pay attention to both Henrietta Huffington and the two Winchester boys as they sat across from each other without looking up from their plates was proving to be damn near impossible. He had a suspicion that something went down between those two, and he was dying to get to the bottom of it. He'd hate to have to kill Dean just as they were starting to get along. Leave it up to Marjorie to have an emergency that took him away from Sam after promising to never leave him alone in the house with his brother. _Dammit._

"Bobby?"

Bobby snapped out of his daze when he realized Sam was speaking to him. "Bobby, you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I was just uh . . . pondering what Henrietta was saying."

Sam's face scrunched up. "Pondering?"

"Oh, shut up," Bobby snarled, turning his attention from Sam to Henrietta. "Was there any evidence he was the one who killed her?"

"Plenty. But it was all covered up somehow. I heard he has a friend in the police force. Maybe he cleaned everything up."

"Hmm. Well, I'll make sure to check it out. It's not everyday you hear stories of men turning into werewolves."

"No ssshit, Sssherlock," Margaret slurred in her shrill voice, clearly drunk. "He really was a nice man though, wasn't he? I'm surprised Bessie never screwed him."

Bessie looked up with wide eyes at her friend.

"What? Don't look at me like that. You know very damn well that those legs of yours will open for practically anything that moves. Hey! Remember the time you gave it up for that security officer back in Melbourne? You'd never believe the freaky shit I saw them doing that night."

"Margaret!" Bessie hissed. "Shut up!"

"There wasss another time where I peeked in on her and ssshe was with some guy who looked like he could have been a lawyer. This was back in Sssanta Fe. I spy on her through the keyhole just in time to find the guy between her legs. Ssso he's goin' to town, right? Well, at the end, when she's gotten her kicks and puts her panties back on, he's lookin' at her all hopeful and was like, 'aren't you gonna return the favor, sweet cheeks?' and, as she's gettin' up to leave the room, she turns her head without even stopping and she goes"-Margaret paused in her drunken storytelling to giggle uncontrollably-"she goes, 'get the fuck outta here.'"

All the women in the room burst into raucous laughter. Dean and Sam looked up at each other and, after a brief staring contest, burst into smiles that Bobby couldn't ignore even if he'd wanted to. Under normal circumstances, he would have been thrilled that the two boys were finally getting along. He would have jumped for joy and drank until he was fucked up out of his mind. But this wasn't normal circumstances, and he found himself staring Dean down as if the poor boy were a criminal guilty of murder. He didn't know what had happened, but he had a feeling Sam's older brother took a shorter time at getting closer to Sam then Bobby ever thought possible. He'd found a way to break the rules.

_Damn kid._

"Bobby?"

Bobby looked up at Henrietta as the women finally calmed down, the look on her face suggesting she was trying to figure out how to approach whatever subject she was thinking of bringing up. "I was sorry to hear about Rosa."

Bobby glanced at Dean, whose smile immediately vanished at the sound of the woman's name. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"Oh, boy. I'm sorry to have upset you, dear. I just wanted to offer my condolences. She seemed like such a wonderful woman. Were you all aware of how she died?"

"Car accident," Bobby replied. "I'm surprised none of you knew the cause of it."

"Well, we've just come back from vacation," Bessie said. "Besides, there's nothing great about a person's death. Am I correct in assuming you were all close to Rosa?"

"We wouldn't have left Dean in her care otherwise. She really was a wonderful woman."

All of the women in the room turned to look at Dean. If Sam and Bobby hadn't picked that exact moment to have a silent conversation with their eyes, they would have noticed the conspiratorial glances the females kept throwing Dean's way, and the boy's reaction as his brows contorted in anger. But they were too busy wrapped up in each other to see much of anything, and the moment was gone so quick that Bessie and the others were rising from their seats by the time they'd finally managed to break eye contact.

"I'm afraid it's time we took our leave," Bessie said. "It's getting pretty late and I have to get up early tomorrow morning."

Bobby tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief. "No problem. Thanks for the tip on Hodges. I'll be sure to look into it."

After stepping out of the Singer household and into the cool night air, Margaret turned to Bessie. "Well, he hasn't told them anything. But the evil look on his face tells me he wasn't expecting us to bring her up."

"How the hell were we supposed to know he'd keep his mouth shut?" Bessie snapped. "The only thing that boy seems to give a rat's ass about is his brother."

"If he wanted to turn us in, he would have done it a long time ago," Henrietta said.

"Yeah, well, you better hope and pray that this entire business gets put behind us, because if anyone ever finds out the truth about Rosa, or what we did with her, all hell will break loose in this town."

Margaret took one last look at the house.

 _Looks like it already has_ , she thought. 

* * *

 

"Dean? You know you can't avoid me forever, kiddo."

Bobby circled around Dean as he did the dishes, trying to ignore the tensing of the boy's muscles.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, bullshit. You went after that kid after I specifically told you not to! What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean slammed a dish on the kitchen counter. "I did exactly what you asked me to do. I didn't go anywhere near him, Bobby. He came to me. All I did was exercise with my door open and the kid flocked to me like sheep to a shepherd."

Bobby looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. "Wait . . . this whole exercise thing. You did that on _purpose_?"

Dean smirked. "I know Sammy. I know how he really feels about me. I know the truth he doesn't want to admit. All I had to do was give him a little push in the right direction. I was going to start slow. What I did today was supposed to get his attention. I had no idea he would approach me so quickly, but that just goes to show you how much he needs me. I may have manipulated him, but I did it to show him that the feelings I have for him are reflected through his eyes whether he likes it or not."

"Your feelings are not normal, boy!"

"This whole life is not normal!" Dean yelled. "Becoming a daddy at four wasn't normal! Growing up in a slew of cheap motels taking care of my little brother while dad was off hunting wasn't normal! Two young boys taking down supernatural creatures with guns and daggers wasn't normal! There is nothing normal about this fucking family, Bobby. My life has been such utter chaos since the moment I was born. The only thing that makes sense to me, the only . . . constant I've ever had, has been Sammy. He's my true north. No matter where I turn that damn compass, it's always going to point to him. Our father made it so that we had nobody but each other to rely on, so you can blame him for the way I feel about my brother. It may not be sane. It may not be normal, but it's all I've got, and I'm not lettin' it go for anything. Not even you."

Bobby stood there stunned. It was even worse than he thought. It was worse because it made sense. But no matter how good Dean pled his case, Sam didn't seem to want it. Even if he did, the boy was only sixteen. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

"Look, Dean. I can accept that your father is more to blame for how all this turned out than you are. I can even understand your feelings for Sam, even though I can't help but think they're wrong. But Sam is only sixteen, Dean. It's interesting because he's the same age you were when you started molesting him at twelve. Twelve, Dean! Now, I don't know what you're playing at here, but the next time anything like this happens, you will live to regret it. If you really care about that boy, you'll let him go."

"Bobby," Dean growled warningly.

"End it now!" Bobby snarled, pushing past Dean on his way out of the kitchen.

Dean watched the bubbles gather on the dirty dishes until he felt himself lose the control he'd tried so hard to hold onto, and with a yell worthy of a roaring lion, took every plate in the sink and smashed them against the wall in anger, tearing apart the kitchen piece by piece until the floor was a mess of shattered glass beneath his feet.

He could have killed his father for wanting Sam so badly. But as much as he'd always tried to fight his feelings toward his brother, keep them bottled up inside where they'd never see the light of day, he'd always known they'd eventually win out in the end. His love for the boy was too strong to ignore. It may have scared Sam. Lord knows it used to scare him. Maybe it still did. But there was no way to fight them, and he knew right away that he didn't want to. Sammy was _his_. He'd finally found something worth fighting for, and nobody on earth was going to take that away from him.

Finding the strength to calm the blood boiling in his blood, Dean went upstairs to go to bed, only to stop dead in his tracks at the closed door in front of his face. With trembling hands, he reached to pluck the picture taped to the wood, and smiled at a photograph of him and Sam that he'd never seen before, but remembered quite vividly. The whole thing meant he was getting to the boy, breaking down his resistance just like he knew he would. Sam belonged to Dean, and somehow, someway, he was going to prove that to him . . . whether he liked it or not.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am overwhelmed by the comments I've gotten so far, and I just wanted to say thank you. I told you all that I had written five chapters a while back and I'm just gonna say right now that I absolutely HATE chapters 3-5. There was so much I could have handled better, but there's no use in crying over spilled milk. It's okay, because I can always learn from my mistakes and improve upon future chapters. I've decided to put them all up so make sure you keep commenting, because those are what keep the chapters coming. Thanks again! :)


	4. Brothers And Serial Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets mad at Sam for wanting to forgive his brother, Dean defends himself to Sam, the high school witnesses its first murder and the students immediately blame Dean.

Sam came downstairs the next morning to find Bobby on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. Sighing, he stepped into the room and gave the old man a knowing look. "Dean?"

Bobby glanced up. "Do you even have to ask?"

Sam shook his head. "Why would he do this?" he whispered.

Bobby went back to his cleaning. "How the hell should I know? The boy's angry, he's confused . . . I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to do about him anymore. That kid is turning everyone's world upside down and I can't do a goddamn thing to stop it."

"He's never disrespected you before. Certainly not like this."

"Yeah, well," Bobby said, getting up from the floor and throwing his sponge into a pail. "You'd be surprised what Dean's capable of when it comes to you."

Sam flinched. The last thing he needed to be reminded of was his brother's irrational love for him. He had a hard enough time accepting Dean's arrival, but to think for one moment that the complete and utter disrespect he showed to Bobby was all Sam's fault was enough to send him over the edge. He didn't want anyone's life to suffer in any way just because he wouldn't give in to his confused sibling's twisted desires. It was bad enough that he shared them. Did he really need to act on them too?

"I want to go talk to him."

Bobby whipped around to glare at Sam. "Are you crazy?"

"I think I can reason with him."

"Oh, you think, huh? Did you know that me and him butted heads over you last night? He still wants you, Sam! He wants you in the way he knows he's not supposed to: spread out on his bed with your legs over your fucking head. Now, is that what you want? To be right back in the position you were in all those years ago?"

"Of course not," Sam replied sternly.

Bobby sighed, his anger all but lost in the face of Sam's. "I promised you that he would stay away from you, Sam. I'm doing my best to make that happen, but your sudden desire to be close to that boy is makin' it kinda hard for me to protect you."

"Look, Bobby, I know how this looks. But if there's gonna be any kind of normalcy in this household, it's going to come from me letting him in. I'm confused about this whole thing and I know I said I wanted him away, but deep down, I can't get over the fact that I'm losing just a little bit of my rage over what he's done. He's still my brother, Bobby. I can't let him go. I want to, but I can't. I think . . . I think it's time for me to forgive him."

Bobby shook his head and raised his arms in exasperation. "This is insane. What the fuck am I supposed to do about this, huh? Just let you two be buddy buddy after he deliberately sexually molested you? Yeah, let's just do that. Then when John comes back, we can all sing Kumbaya and dance naked around a campfire."

Sam's eyes widened, and Bobby let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, you forget about him, did you? He's not going to be gone forever, Samuel. If there's one thing I can count on about your father, it's that he always comes back eventually. And let me tell you something; when he does, you better be ready for it, because I guarantee you, he's not going to be as lenient about this whole thing as I am."

Bobby walked past Sam to get to the front door, and Sam watched him leave in silence before kicking the cupboard below the sink in frustration. The entire situation with Dean was getting out of hand. What made it even worse was just how vulnerable he was becoming to his older brother. It was his love for Dean that gave the boy everything he needed to take advantage of Sam in the first place, and, four years later, it seemed as if they were both still dancing to the same old familiar tune. How the hell was he supposed to forgive Dean when he couldn't even trust him? And how could he not when his brother was the one who took care of him for most of his life? All those years cramped in motel room after motel room with the task of caring for a little brother when he was too young to even fend for himself had to have been a burden. But he still did it, regardless of how unfair it was. Dean was bathing, feeding, clothing, and diapering Sam before he'd even turned five, and Sam knew that those memories wouldn't just conveniently disappear long enough for him to disown his brother. Their bond was too strong, and Sam hated Dean for it, resented the idea that he could be tied down to a love he didn't even want anymore, yet craved badly enough that he felt like a terrible person for even considering forgiving Dean. It was confusing, it was madness, it was . . .

"Sammy?"

Sam froze. _Oh, god._

Turning around slowly, Sam took in the sight of his dirty brother with a moan so inaudible, he barely heard it with his own ears. "Dean."

A combination of oil and grease stained Dean's pale skin, hair disheveled in the way it used to get when Sam's fingers would pull on it during a long night of strenuous intercourse (don't go there. Please don't go there). His black shirt was drenched in his sweat, the torn blue jeans hanging low on his hips making Sam's mouth water. After all this time, Dean still had the ability to get under his skin in a way that nobody else could, filling Sam's body with a familiar fondness he could have sworn he'd grown out of long ago.

Dean took a step closer, but stopped when Sam retaliated by taking a step back. The hurt look the action put on Dean's face disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with a mask of cool indifference that Sam's never seen directed at him before. It hurts him in a way he can't explain, and he has to reach behind himself to grasp the edge of the kitchen sink in a tight grip to avoid dropping to his knees and begging his big brother for forgiveness.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Dean asked, the icy tone he used sending a chill up Sam's spine. "Can't stand the thought of being near me? Think I'm gonna hurt you?"

Sam tried to respond, but all he could get out was a shaky breath that somehow got caught in the middle of his throat. Dean's stern expression intensified as he took slow, cautious steps towards Sam, closing in on him like a predator about to devour his prey. Sam watched it all happen in slow motion, closing his eyes when Dean was close enough that the breath he blew out his nose fell on Sam's face like a gentle caress. Before he knew what had hit him, Dean's hands were reaching out to rest right next to his brother's, leaving Sam trapped between the sink and Dean's body.

"Look at me, Sammy," Dean whispered. When Sam didn't answer, his voice rose in pitch. "I said look at me."

Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared at Dean. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean looked at him for a moment before grabbing hold of something around his neck and dangling it in front of Sam's face. "Remember this?"

Oh, he remembered alright. It was the amulet Dean had given him as a boy one Christmas night when his father had been too busy hunting monsters to bother showing up to spend time with his boys. John was supposed to get that necklace, but it was on that night that Sam realized he didn't deserve it. No, that amulet needed to go around the neck of someone who was always there for him when times got tough, someone who would always wipe his tears and soothe all his problems away.

Someone like Dean.

Sam felt his eyes tear up. "You still have it," he whispered, more to himself than Dean.

"I wear it over my heart. It was the only thing I had left of you when dad sent me away, this and a picture that had your face on it."

Dean's face suddenly hardened, and the tone of his voice took on an angry edge that Sam didn't think he'd ever be on the receiving end of. "I have spent every second of my existence looking out for you. I've put aside every single need I'd ever had just so I could take care of you, because lord knows dad wasn't gonna do it. Your desires became my desires, your needs my responsibility to meet. I lived and breathed you, Sam. Sammy. _My"-_ Sam shrunk a fraction at the force Dean put behind that one word- "Sammy. Dad made it perfectly clear that you were mine the night our mother died, and I had no choice but to care for you at a time when I couldn't even care for myself. I've sacrificed so much for you, and you have the nerve to think that I could ever hurt you?"

Sam knew he should be angry, knew he should yell and scream, tell Dean he had no right to play the victim card when he'd taken advantage of the power he held over his baby brother, but . . . he just couldn't find it in him to feel anything other than regret. He didn't want to live this way anymore. He didn't want to be a prisoner in his own house and he didn't want to forget all the good his brother had done for him. The sight of the amulet spoke louder than any words they could ever say to each other, and its presence on Dean's neck was what finally sealed Sam's fate.

He had to forgive his brother. There was no other option.

Before he could tell this to Dean, the older boy was storming away from him in anger, turning at the doorway to shoot one last glare Sam's way. "I'm the only person who's ever been there for you, Sam. I'm the only one that's always gonna be there. I think that warrants a little fucking respect, don't you?"

It wasn't until Dean slammed the front door and peeled out of the driveway in the Impala that Sam finally admitted to himself that his brother was right.

* * *

The crowd gathered at the school Monday morning stunned Sam into silence as Bobby pulled up to the entrance, both of them frowning as they realized something was very wrong.

"Maybe I should get out," Bobby said.

"I don't know, Bobby. It's probably no-" Sam's denial was interrupted when he caught sight of Bessie Jackson walking towards the car with a somber expression on her face. The presence of a gossip queen was never a good thing when there were other people involved, and Sam knew right then and there that he wasn't going to like whatever it was the old woman had to say.

"Bobby, we have a problem."

Bobby's face darkened. "What is it?"

"It's Miss Claudette's daughter, Virginia. Her body was just found in front of the school building. The poor thing's head had been cut off and the sweater she always wears is missing."

"Aww, shit," Bobby muttered.

Sam's brows furrowed. "But I thought her and her family were supposed to be on vacation?"

"Evidently not," Bessie remarked dryly. "Apparently, Virginia was left behind because she had a date with someone. Now, I know Virginia was a promiscuous girl who was into older men, but I don't know of a single soul in this town over the age of eighteen who would dare take home an underage girl. I do, however, think the town is going to be looking for someone to blame."

"You think they're gonna go after Dean . . . don't you?" Bobby replied knowingly.

"Dean knew her, Bobby. If you were anyone else, what would you think?"

Sam sighed in frustration, head falling back against the seat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, Virginia had to go and get herself killed. Now, the town is out for blood and he knew Bessie was right. Trying to look at things from everyone else's perspective was enough to know that Dean was going to be the main suspect in that girl's murder. The facts were stacked against Dean, and Sam knew it. He had a reputation, he was kicked out of his father's house and sent to go live with a respected member of the community who'd just died from what the police had originally labeled an "accident" (according to Bobby anyway), and now a girl that he knew was just killed. Not to mention, everyone is still wondering why John kicked him out in the first place. If they found out the truth . . . Sam didn't think he'd be able to show his face in public again.

Blowing out a shaky breath, Sam made a move to get out of the car, but was stopped by Bobby's hand on his arm. "I don't think you should go out there, son."

Sam smiled sadly. "I'll be alright. I just need to act normal, that's all."

Bobby looked like he wanted to protest, but let Sam go all the same. When he got to the crowd gathered around Virginia's body, he saw Adam scanning the faces of everyone there until his eyes finally narrowed in on Sam. Eyes widening, he violently pushed himself through the mess of jumbled bodies until he reached his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Sam in a deathlike grip Sam found himself enthusiastically returning.

"Oh, god, Sam. Thank god you're alright. They told me someone had died and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was so worried."

Sam shoved his face in Adam's neck, wanting the comfort of someone familiar to keep him grounded.

_The scent's all wrong. Where's the leather and gunpowder? Why is his voice so soft? It should be rougher, like he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey in less than a minute. And why is his body not hard enough? His arms don't feel strong. I don't feel protected. It's all wrong._

_Oh, god._ Why did he always have to think this way when he was around Adam?

Pulling himself away, Sam tried to form something resembling a smile, though he probably failed miserably. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just can't believe anyone would do this."

"It gets worse," Adam said. "Apparently, her parents never reached the airport they were supposed to be at. They drove up to Cici's Diner to grab a bite to eat and no one's seen or heard from them since."

The arms Sam had wrapped around himself fell to rest at his sides. "Did they go missing at the same time this happened?'

"That's what everyone is saying. How the hell does everyone in this town find out about all this shit before the police? This all supposedly happened last night and everybody seems to know everything about it already."

"Where are the cops anyway?"

"On their way. Principal Anderson was the one who made the call. You'd think they'd be here by now."

Sam frowned. "I have to go home, Adam. I can't be here right now."

Adam's head whipped around. "Oh, no. There's no way you're leaving my side. If you want to leave, fine, but you should come home with me."

Sam tried not to let his annoyance show. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Adam. Besides, my brother would freak out if I didn't come straight home after something like this. You don't have to worry about me when he's there. I promise you, I'll be fine."

Adam tried to argue, but one kiss from Sam was enough to get the boy to give up, on the condition that Sam call him before the day was over.

 _Overprotective boyfriends_ , Sam thought with a tiny smile.

"Hey, Winchester!"

Sam turned around at the sound of his last name, scowling when he caught sight of Roger Eaton. "Everyone here knows exactly who did this. You better tell that brother of yours to watch his back."

Sam looked around at all the accusing faces with a sense of dread. He should have known that it wasn't going to take very long for the whole school to start pointing fingers at Dean. Now, Sam was an accessory to it all because he was his little brother. How in the world he was going to survive this, he had no clue. But, what he did know, was that Virginia was murdered. If it turns out that her parents are now dead for the same reason, then maybe Rosa's death could somehow be connected to those murders. After all, people are already suspecting that her "accident" wasn't really an accident at all. If that's the case, then there was a serial killer running loose, and so far, he was killing people that knew Dean on a personal level. Maybe the killer knows Dean? If he knows Dean . . . then maybe he knows his family too.

Sam turned around and ran away from the unfriendly eyes burning holes in his flesh, stopping behind the school building so he could throw up in the bushes. His life wasn't supposed to be like this. Ever since Dean came back, things have gotten worse than they've ever been before, and Sam wasn't sure how long he could hold on before he finally cracked. All he knew was that the entire school hated him, and he was stuck in a house with a molesting brother who was now being accused of murder.

Yep. It was official. Sam was royally screwed. 


	5. A Matter Of Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two detectives investigate the murder of Virginia, Dean has a dream about a sexual encounter he once had with Sam, Sam begins to believe that his relationship with Dean can go back to normal, and the police show up to talk to Dean about the murders.

Detective Raphael Walsh parked his black Sudan a block away from the local high school before looking over at his partner in the passenger seat, briefly swatting at the puff of smoke blown purposefully in his direction. "So, I suppose we should have seen this coming, eh?"

Stuart Bison smirked. "In a town filled with supernatural activity? Please."

"Do you think we've finally found him?"

"I sure fucking hope so," Bison muttered, slamming his coffee cup down on the dashboard. "Because if we mess this up again, the boss is gonna have our asses handed to us on silver platters drenched in our fucking blood."

Walsh chuckled, giving his partner's thigh a playful smack. "Whelp, time to face the music. Let's hurry up so we can get the hell out of here."

Both men got out of the car and made their way over to the crime scene with more than a little determination, roughly pushing past the horde of people on the street as they followed the sound of Chief Morrello's voice encouraging the civilians to keep their distance.

Morello took one look at them and laughed. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Ben and Jerry."

"Fuck off, Morello," Bison snarled. "That was one fucking time. God, I really wish I hadn't of told you that story."

"But you did," he insisted, walking with them over to what appeared to be the body of a teenage girl. "And now I'm never gonna let you live it down."

"Whatever."

Walsh, ignoring the bantering going on behind him, knelt down by the body and glanced at the decapitated head beside it. She was young, probably around fifteen or sixteen, with blue eyes that were once beautiful, but were now pale and lifeless, compliments of death's lethal touch. Her blonde hair was matted from what looked like a mixture of blood and mud, and the skirt that clung to her body was hiked up, the dried crimson stain in her genital region suggesting she had been violated either before or after death. The decapitation, along with the brutal way the victim's body was put on display for the whole world to see, was proof that Walsh had finally found what he was looking for.

_He's here. We've actually fucking found him._

The medical examiner knelt beside Walsh and stared hard at the expression on his face. "You seem a little too happy for someone who's just witnessed the cruelty of humanity."

Walsh smiled. "It's good to see you too, Lucille. Tell me what's up with this one. It's clear to me that she wasn't killed here."

"Definitely not. There's no mud around here, which makes me wonder if maybe she wasn't killed somewhere up in Lakeview park. You know, there are woods surrounding that whole area."

"Yeah, but the nearest row of houses is practically right across the street from there. Anyone could have heard her screams."

"I can't imagine she'd want to make any noise if he threatened her with a weapon," Lucille replied, sighing as she followed Walsh's gaze to the spot between the girl's legs. "He definitely raped her. Those wounds aren't post-mortem. Fucking bastard wasn't going to make this easy for her. Thought it would be fun to play with the poor thing first."

Walsh gave her a sad smile. "We're gonna get this guy, Lucy. I promise."

"I hope so. Because the parents are missing. You think they could have done this?"

Walsh tried not to let his glee show. "The parents are missing?"

"Hey, Walsh! Come on! We've got a serial killer on our hands and there are witnesses to question."

Walsh got up from his place on the floor and practically ran over to Bison, grabbing his arm and dragging him off to the side where nobody could hear them. "It's him, Bison. He's here."

Bison grinned. "I fucking knew it. We get this motherfucker and we'll be on the employee of the month list for the next ten lifetimes."

"Yeah, no shit," Walsh replied, turning to look at the crowd.

"You know, a lot of murderers like to be near the place where they left their victims. He could be here right now laughing in our faces and we'd never even know it."

Walsh glanced at Bison before refocusing his eyes on the crowd, his intense gaze deepening with stubborn resilience. "Don't you worry, Bison. This isn't over, not by a long shot. I'm gonna get this asshole. I'm gonna get him if it is the last thing I do."

* * *

Dean's brows furrowed, the dream he was in transporting him to a memory long forgotten. He could feel a certain sensation deepening inside of him, getting stronger with every second he slipped further into unconsciousness. Giving himself over to sleep, he fell into the past with an eagerness he wasn't aware he was taking part in, the bedroom in Bobby's house shifting and changing into a motel room from long ago. His brain reprogrammed itself into an old mindset resembling that of his sixteen year old self, and before he knew it, he was on top of a mattress different from the one he fell asleep in, enveloping him in a new reality where sleep dissolved, replaced with something he felt before he even fully knew what it was.

_Pleasure. The first thing Dean noticed before he even fully regained consciousness. Intense, like the rush of adrenaline that passes through your system when falling down a roller coaster. The feeling pulled a prolonged moan from him so deep, it rumbled from his very core, enveloping him in a warmth so sweet._

_Sucking. There was something surrounding his cock. He could feel the warm, wet suction contracting rhythmically around the sensitive skin, smacking and slurping coming from down below. The pressure increased, and another groan, louder this time, originated from somewhere behind his closed lips._

_Moaning. A tone so soothing to his ears kept vibrating around him, making his eyes flutter open. Something familiar about the sound kept gnawing at him, and his brain, clouded from sleep, tried to focus long enough to glance down at whatever was causing his body to thrum with overwhelming bliss._

_Sammy._

_Dean's Sammy. Dean's beautiful, sweet, innocent little Sammy had his swollen lips stuffed so full of his big brother's cock, the length was barely visible to Dean's line of sight. His brain couldn't process what was taking place before him, but his disbelief didn't stop Sam from lifting up and taking him all the way down again, moaning around Dean like a starved man who was just given a huge piece of meat._

_Oh, god._

_"Sam?" Dean asked, voice rough with sleep._

_"Brother," Sam whimpered around Dean, voice sounding so needy, it made Dean's cock ache._

_Dean grabbed Sam by the hair and reluctantly dragged him off his dick, nearly coming instantly at Sam's whine of protest._

_"Don't, big brother. I need it. Need it so bad. Wake up. Please, wake up."_

_Sam got off the bed then, and Dean's fingers gripped the sheets as he resisted the urge to grab his little boy and drag him back where he belonged. He nearly died when Sam began removing his clothes one by one, giving Dean a show when all he wanted was a fuck._

_"I'm horny, De," Sam moaned._

_Christ. "Yeah?"_

_A blush that had nothing to do with bashfulness crept up little Sammy's cheeks as he slowly pulled his boxers down past his hips, arousal written all over his face. "Yeah. Want you to do what you did to me last night."_

_Dean growled, all control lost in the face of his brother's lust. Springing up from the bed, he grabbed Sam's waist and pulled him on the mattress, moaning when Sam spread his legs like the fucking cocktease he was. Blanketing himself over his little boy, Dean shot him a predatory smile that made the child's breath catch in his throat._

_"You want it again, huh? Want me to slobber all over your sweet little hole like a dog? Eat you out like a girl?"_

_Sam whimpered._

_"You gotta open up for me this time, Sammy. Big brother can't help you unless you give up that sweet meat."_

_Dean smirked at Sam's wide eyes. "Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, don't you, baby? You gonna relax for your big brother, Sammy? Gonna be a good boy and let me pleasure that asshole 'till you come all over me?"_

_"Yeah," Sam whispered breathlessly._

_Pulling himself off Sam, Dean slid down his body until he was eye level with his baby's hole, giving it little kisses that made Sam gasp in surprised pleasure. Dean's full lips soon became insistent, each peck increasing in pressure until the urge to slurp and suck was too much for the older boy to resist. Exhaling loudly, Dean buried his face between Sam's ass cheeks and tried sucking as much of the rim as he could into his mouth. Sam screamed, and the sound should have been enough for him, but he wanted more. The boy was as tight as a vice, refusing to give Dean the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world. It drove him crazy._

_"Fuck," Dean hissed, annoyed. "You're doing it again."_

_"Doing what?" Sam whined._

_"You're all closed up like a fucking virgin. Open up that little boy pussy for me, Sammy."_

_"I'm trying."_

_"Not hard enough. Relax your muscles. I can't-I gotta-" Dean used both his thumbs to rub Sam's hole, stretching it apart before closing it back up. "Yeah, there we go. Gonna coax that shit right out."_

_"De-"_

_"Shh, it's okay. Calm down. We're gonna be here for a while, so you might as well lie back and enjoy the ride. Want you to scream, baby boy. Want the whole fucking world to know what you really think of big brother."_

_Sam's eyes fell closed, head falling to the side as a moan ripped out of him. Dean ignored him, spitting on his hole and licking a long stripe up his ass crack._

_"Dean! Ah, f-fuck, big brother."_

_Dean's face contorted in concentration, rubbing his fingers against Sam's sensitive flesh and reveling in the moan he got in return for his efforts. He could see just the tiniest hint of the soft skin Sam was hiding from him, and the thought of how sweet it would taste drove him to the edge of madness. Placing his mouth over the rim, he sucked hard, growling when Sam's body started to retract what was beginning to bloom like a flower, trying its best to take away the very thing Dean refused to give up._

_"Come on," Dean whispered. "Open up, you motherfucker."_

_Finally, after what seemed like forever, he watched as Sam's hole relaxed beneath his full lips, expanding to reveal the part of Sam that Dean couldn't ever seem to get enough of._

 

_Dean slid a finger inside Sam and nibbled around it, licking and sucking all over his brother's hole._

 

_"Oh, yeah," Dean moaned, his words muffled from the skin pressed against his wet mouth. "Here it comes. Hmm, look at all that meat, Sammy. Gettin' all fluttery and shit."_

 

_Sam cried out as Dean's finger moved in and out in time with his rhythmic sucking of the boy's skin. "Deeeeeee. You can't . . . gotta stop-"_

 

_"Ah, shit. Look at that. Fuckin' look at it, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, astonished. "Got so swollen for me, like it wants it just as much as you do. Fuck, open that shit up. I gotta-I gotta eat that pink, baby. Gonna fuckin' destroy it."_

 

_Dean crooked his finger and worked up a come hither motion, massaging Sam's prostate while slobbering all over the boy's hole like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted._

_  
_   


_And it was. God, how it was._

 

_He didn't know how long he spent ignoring Sam's pleas for him to stop, but he was vain enough that he felt powerful for being the only one who could make Sam fall apart the way he always did for Dean. All of that 'we shouldn't do this because it's wrong' bullshit always surfaced when he was building the kid up to the strongest orgasms on the face of the fucking planet, and he knew that the guilt and the shame that came with being fucked by your big brother was the only thing keeping Sam from admitting that this was where they were meant to be. Sam was meant for this, meant to take his big brother so good and deep, and if he had to fuck that logic into Sam, then so be it._

 

_"Oh, god. Dean, stop. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come."_

 

_Dean chuckled. "That's the whole point. Want you to come, baby boy. Want to feel you come on my tongue."_

 

_Sam screamed, the sound going straight to Dean's dick. He felt Sam spasm around him, and sank his mouth down on the boy's sweet little cock just in time to swallow his come. The taste of his brother was always better than anything in the whole fucking world to Dean, and he never passed up the chance to take as much of Sam's essence as he could into himself._

 

_When the kid was spent, Dean crawled up his body and fell on top of him with a lusty grunt, licking into his mouth while clenching Sam's sweaty bangs in his sticky fingers._

 

  
_"Goddamn, Sammy," he whispered. "Love how good that little cock tastes when I'm suckin' the sperm right out of it. So fuckin' sweet, Sam."_   
_  
_   


_"We shouldn't have-I don't know why I-"_

 

_"Shh. Just keep your legs spread."_

_  
_   


_Sam's brows furrowed in confusion as he locked eyes with his brother. "Why?"_

 

_Dean licked at Sam's lips and began rubbing his cock against his brother's smaller one, both boys moaning softly at the sensation. "I wanna . . . fuck you."_

_  
_   


_"Oh, god."_

 

_"You gonna let me? Huh, Sammy? You gonna let me get my prick all up in your tight little ass?"_

 

_"I f-fucking h-hate you."_

 

_"Tell me you want it," Dean snarled. "I know you do, so just say it."_

 

_When Sam didn't answer, Dean bit the spot where his neck met his shoulder, growling at the fist pulling at his spiky hair._

 

_"Fucking say it, I said!"_

 

_"Yes," Sam yelled. "I-I want it, De. Want it so bad. Hate that I want it. Give it to me. Give me your thick cock. I'm dripping for it. Gotta have it. Please, do it. Please. Oh, god, please. I need you."_

_  
_   


_Dean, spurred on by Sam's begging, withdrew without warning and stormed over to the nightstand beside the bed, ripping the drawer open to rummage through the contents inside. Coming up with a plastic bottle of lube he kept for when their father was out of town and he had Sammy all to himself, he all but ran back to the mattress, plopping himself back between his brother's spread legs and pouring a generous amount on his shaking fingers._

 

_"I'm gonna ruin your life, Sammy," Dean promised, blowing out a hesitant breath when he felt Sam clamp down tight around the two digits sliding inside of him. "You're not gonna be able to walk for a fucking year by the time I'm through with you tonight. I'm gonna fuck that hole slowly, intimately. Gonna get all up inside you and work you so fucking good, and just when you're about to come, I'm gonna stop. Know why? 'Cause I want you to beg. I want you to give up all this 'I don't want to do this' crap and give in to me. I love you so much, Sammy. Gonna show you how much. Gonna make you feel it, shove it all up in there until you're full of me."_

 

_Dean removed his fingers from Sam's ass, replacing it with his cock before the boy could even think to protest. He slid inside without thinking, so used to being where he considered home that he never thought to ask his brother if he was ready. Sam's hole was loose from Dean's hands, giving up no resistance as Dean pulled all the way out before slamming back in, growling at the wet sound the lube made from the impact._

 

_"Dean," Sam whimpered, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders and locking his ankles around his brother's thighs, legs falling open as if he couldn't hold them up anymore._

 

_Dean rested himself on his elbows, looking in Sam's eyes as he pulled out slowly until only the tip remained, then shoved in fast. He kept up that same pace, moaning long, loud, and hard each time he sheathed himself in tight heat. His groans every time he thrust inside Sam were guttural, rough, and sounded so dirty to his ears, he almost felt ashamed of himself for fucking his twelve-year-old little brother to the point where the kid's eyes were rolling in the back of his head . . . almost._

 

_Dean sped up, little by little, screwing Sam into the mattress so good, the springs began squeaking from their weight, keeping time with the headboard as it banged against the wall. Skin slapped against skin, and the slippery sound of the lube got louder the longer Dean thrust in and out. He couldn't bring himself to stop, even when Sam started to cry from the intense pleasure Dean was giving him._

 

_"Ahh!" Sam whined loudly, shakily. He sounded like he was in pain, and it sent a thrill through Dean so strong, he stopped thrusting and closed his eyes, willing himself not to come._

 

_"Don't make noises like that, Sammy. Fucking hell, I'm gonna come in you."_

 

_"My tummy feels funny," Sam whimpered. "It's gonna happen again. I'm gonna do it again, De."_

 

_"Oh, fuck," Dean moaned, circling his hips involuntarily. "Gonna make you do it, Sam. Feel that teenage prick all up in your little kid hole? Feel it sliding in and out so good, baby boy? Massaging you from the inside, rubbing my dickhead against that sweet spot? I'm not gonna show you any mercy. Gonna make you spit that come all over my stomach, Sammy. Make those muscles contract so fucking hard, baby boy."_

 

_Dean pounded into Sam over and over, their moans getting louder with each thrust. Sam's nails bit into Dean's shoulders as his head fell to the side, screaming his ecstasy into the night sky. The moonlight was the only thing keeping them from fucking in complete darkness, making Dean groan at the sweat shimmering on their writhing bodies. When Sam tensed beneath him, he gave a brutal thrust, growling as Sam's forehead creased with pleasure._

 

_"Ohhh," Sam moaned, the noise coming from somewhere deep in his throat. "Ohhh shiiiiiiit."_

 

_"Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. I knew exactly what you were doing, little brother. I'm not gonna let you deprive me of your orgasm. Stop holding back because it's not gonna do you any good. You're gonna fucking give it to me, Sammy. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna have that come . . . Oh, god. Big brother's gonna come in that asshole, Sammy. I'm gettin' you all sticky and then I'm gonna suck my shit straight outta you and make you swallow every last drop. Ahhh, fuuuck!"_

 

_Dean groaned his release into Sam's face, smacking their lips and tongues together so sloppily, saliva glistened all over their mouths, falling down their chin and necks. Before Dean's climax ended, Sam ripped his face away and shouted Dean's name, painting his brother's stomach with come._

 

_Dean grabbed Sam's hands and held them above his head, throwing his entire weight on his little brother. His whole body remained still with the exception of his hips as he impaled Sam over and over._

 

_"You nasty little shit," Dean growled into Sam's mouth. " Ah, fuck. I'm gonna keep comin' in that hole."_

 

_Sam's mouth fell open, stomach muscles fluttering, the outline of Dean's cock bulging through his stomach as another orgasm came from somewhere deep inside, forcing more come out through his hard little dick._

 

_"Filthy boy," Dean snarled. "Give me that come, you little fucker!"_

 

_"Oh, god! Dean! Fuck!"_

 

_For a moment, everything went still inside Dean's head. Then, before he knew it, another intense sensation rippled from his dick and he found himself dropping another load of come in Sam's ass._

 

_"Yeah," Dean groaned loudly, another moan ripping from him as his thrusting caused the lube covering his cock to make a loud, wet squelching sound from between their bodies. "Ooooh."_

 

_Dean pulled out before his orgasm faded, both brothers crying out at the pleasure the action brought. Kneeling between Sam's legs, Dean used his fingers to stretch the boy's hole as wide as it could get._

 

_"Look at you, drippin' all wet and shit. Your pink is all red and puffy from our fuckin.' Looks so good, baby boy. I'm gonna suck it all out and you're gonna swallow it for me, aren't you? Open you legs, goddamn it. Wanna get my tongue all up in that dirty little ass crack."_

 

_Dean licked around the swollen hole, pressing his mouth into it so he could suck his own come out of his brother._

 

_"De, don't," Sam whimpered quietly. "Deee. Feels so . . . ahhh."_

 

_Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's dick, chuckling as he felt his brother climax a third time. "Damn, Sam. Got ya good tonight, didn't I, baby?"_

 

_"F-fuck you."_

 

_Dean crawled up Sam's body and watched as his obedient little brother parted his lips without having to be told, swallowing the come Dean offered him. Their tongues tangled slowly, cuddling together as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking._

 

_"That was good, yeah?" Dean asked, kissing Sam's neck._

 

_Sam didn't answer. Dean looked up confused, and found tears falling down his brother's face. "Sam? What's wrong?"_

 

_Sam buried his face in Dean's neck, holding onto him like his life depended on it. "Nothing. Just hold me."_

 

_Dean obeyed, listening to the sound of his brother's heartbeat. They usually fell asleep tangled up in each other's arms and tonight was no different. But, before Dean could sink into a comforting slumber, a strange noise began from somewhere above him, almost like a voice calling his name. He didn't want to give in. He wanted to stay this way with Sam forever. But the person calling was persistent, and it wasn't long before he surrendered, allowing the voice to pull him further and further out of his dream until-_

 

"Dean?"

 

Dean let out a whimpered 'no' before turning on his side, doing his best to block out whoever it was trying to wake him from the best dream he's had in three years.

 

"C'mon, boy. Can't be sleepin' the day away just because Sam went out for the weekend."

 

Dean's ears perked up at that. Lifting his head, he turned to glance at Bobby with sleep filled eyes. "What? Why? Where did he go?"

 

"He went to stay at Jeremy's. He's your brother's best friend. He just wanted to get away after the whole murder business went down."

 

Dean looked confused. "What murder business?"

 

"Shit," Bobby swore. "I never told you about that, did I?"

 

Dean sat up. "Bobby," he warned.

 

"Virginia's dead. She was murdered and we all found out about it yesterday morning when I was about to drop Sam off at school. He probably assumed that I'd tell ya, but I guess I sort of . . . forgot to mention it."

 

"And you just let him fucking leave?"

 

"Don't raise your tone with me, boy. He's better off over there. Don't worry. I've already had a talk with Jeremy's mom and I have the number in case you want me to call him and make sure he's alright. This is the best thing for him, Dean. He deserves to get away from this train wreck for a day or two."

 

Dean sighed. "I hate it when he's not close by. Makes it harder for me to protect him."

 

Bobby resisted the urge to smile. "That's just it, kid. He doesn't need you to do that anymore. He's a big boy now. He's lived just fine without your 'protection' for the past four years. I seriously doubt two more days is gonna kill the little bastard."

 

Dean didn't want to admit it, but the old man had a point. Rather than acknowledge it, he just grunted stubbornly and puffed out his bottom lip in the way he usually did when things didn't go his way. "Whatever."

 

Bobby was about to respond when the doorbell rang. "Now, who the hell could that be?"

 

Getting off the bed, both him and Dean walked up to the front door side by side. Giving each other a sideways look, Bobby opened up the door and groaned internally at the two detectives standing in front of them. He should have known this was going to happen. He just kind of hoped it would have taken the townspeople longer to start pointing accusing fingers Dean's way.

 

The taller detective removed his sunglasses, neatly folding them inside the pocket of his suit jacket. He had short black hair combed over to one side and blue eyes that bore into Dean's with an intensity rarely administered with such accuracy by someone as young as he appeared to be. He would definitely give Bobby a run for his money, no doubt about it.

_  
_   


The other one was small in stature, equipped with a pot belly and brown eyes so dark, they looked almost black. His hair was lighter, though that was partially due to the sunlight beating down on the man's head as though it were attracted to the gel stiffening the strands. This one looked about as dumb as a bag of hammers, but the slightly sinister expression in his cold eyes made Bobby believe he was probably a lot more ruthless than he appeared to be.

 

Before Bobby could enquire as to the nature of their visit, the taller one spoke up. "I'm detective Walsh. This is my partner, detective Bison. We're here to speak to a Mr. Dean Winchester. We've been told he lives here. Would you happen to know his whereabouts?"

 

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean growled, holding Walsh's stare with a cold-blooded fierceness that would have shocked Bobby had he not seen it first hand every time a supernatural creature was stupid enough to try to fuck with Sam.

 

"Dean, we're here on behalf of a murder investigation regarding Virginia Peters. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind. May we come in?"

Dean and Bobby exchanged wary glances. Finally, Bobby spoke up. "I suppose."

They moved aside to let the detectives past, watching as they made their way into the kitchen.

 

"What the hell is this about?" Dean hissed at Bobby.

 

Bobby stared straight ahead, his expression somber. "Well, kid . . . I believe they're accusing you of murder."

 

* * *

 

"Alright," Sam muttered, squeezing the house phone involuntarily. "I understand. Thanks, Bobby. Bye."

 

Sam hung up and locked eyes with his friend, warning him with his dark expression not to ask questions, which he did anyway. "Hey, Sam. What's up with your brother? He in trouble or something?"

 

"Nothing we can't handle."

 

"You know, a lot of people think he's the one who murdered that Virginia girl."

 

Sam's face darkened. "He didn't kill anyone, alright? Just leave him alone."

 

"Okay, okay. Just trying to make conversation."

 

Sam chuckled, the atmosphere in the room lightening considerably. "And that's what you come up with? I knew there was a reason I hated you."

 

Jeremy smiled. "Hey, what are friends for, right?" Plopping down on the couch, he continued. "So . . . what _is_ wrong?"

 

Sam blew out a breath and sat down next to his friend. If only there was a way for him to express his feelings to Jeremy without giving away the truth. But how could he reiterate 'I was molested by my brother who is now accused of being a cold-blooded murderer that I may or may not be in love with' without having it sound like . . . that?

 

"I'm just confused is all. Me and my brother sort of grew apart in the years he was gone. But, now that he's back, I can't seem to stay away from him. I hate and love him at the same time so being around him is a total mess. Now, this whole thing with Virginia's murder is happening and I just don't know what to make of it all. Everyone hates me because they think he did it. I hate him because I feel like everything I'm going through right now is all his fault and it's just this big old mess that I can't seem to clean up."

 

Jeremy watched the loose wood wiggle underneath his foot. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wish there was something I could do to make it better. I could suggest talking out your feelings with your big bro, but . . . I doubt you want to broach that subject."

 

"I'll figure it out somehow," Sam mumbled. "Hey, let's watch a movie. I do believe Star Wars is on tonight."

 

"You got it, buddy."

 

Sam waited until Jeremy walked out of the room to put his head in his hands. He was doing just fine until Bobby had to screw it up by telling him about those detectives. Why the hell did they have to come around and bug his brother anyway? He knew Dean, and Dean wasn't a killer. At least, not the kind they're talking about. If Dean is guilty of anything, it's his unhealthy obsession with Sam. Well . . . that, and the shitty way he's always making Sam's decisions for him, like he's incapable of caring for himself or something.

 

Who the hell did Dean think he was anyway? It's not like Sam was a baby. Wasn't he the one who pushed Dean out of the way and staked that vamp before he had a chance to make his older brother into a meal? Wasn't he the one who beat up that fifteen year old kid when he was younger for trying to steal Madison Crane's lunch money? He knew how to defend himself. He knew how to hunt, how to spar. He knew practically everything there was to know about every demon, shape shifter, werewolf, ghost, and vampire on the damn planet, and yet, Dean still couldn't give Sam any breathing room to try and be his own man. It was so frustrating. It-

 

Why the hell was he getting mad about something so stupid? He should be worried about what the kids in school were gonna think of him. He should be worried about his brother being accused of a murder he didn't commit. Instead, he was thinking about something so painfully _normal_ that he almost laughed out loud at the sudden relief that came over him. Younger brothers were supposed to think about their older brothers the way Sam was thinking about Dean. It was a step in the right direction. It gave him hope that he could rebuild what Dean almost destroyed and get him and his brother back to where they were supposed to be, where normal brothers were supposed to be. Maybe . . . maybe he could still have Dean after all.

 

With a new pep in his step, Sam skipped into Jeremy's bedroom with an ease he used to think he was no longer capable of. He'd made up his mind. When he got back to the house, he was going to start rebuilding his relationship with Dean. After all, they'd survived sexual abuse, separation, and the death of their mother. Whatever it was they were going through now, they'd blow past that obstacle as well. With all that they've been through, there wasn't a single thing in this world that could possibly get in their way now.

 

Right?

 

* * *

From somewhere in the woods, far away from the prying eyes of a civilization gone sour, someone was digging a grave for two dead bodies lying on their backs at his feet. The worms that wiggled in the dirt were crushed beneath the heel of his boot as he reached a hand out to grab the plastic bags covering the bodies of his victims, chuckling wickedly while hurtling them into the shallow ground. It wouldn't be long before a jogger would come running by this area, noticing the hand sticking out of the earth, lifeless fingers hanging limply like wilted flowers that somehow lost the will to survive. Then, he would once again be recognized by the public for his handiwork, for his priceless works of art should be recognized. He was a modern-day Bosch of the criminal world, killing his victims in such ways that the colorful brutality of it was almost beautiful in both its simplicity and its graphic imagery.

 

He knew that everyone wasn't going to know about him personally, but that was alright with him. They only needed to know of his work, not the real person behind it. As long as it got him what he wanted, the person taking the fall for his crimes could take the credit all they wanted. In the end, he knew the real source.

 

Yes, it wouldn't be long now. Soon, the police were going to find the bodies of Claudette and Evan Peters. The public will rage and cry and ultimately point their dirty little fingers in a direction far away from him, and he will watch from afar as detectives Walsh and Bison allow those smug expressions to come over their ugly faces, smirking at each other as if this will finally be the day that they catch him.

 

But they won't catch him. He's too smart, too cunning. He will get away this time, and the time after next. He will bask in the light of victory as he watches them fall all over each other, yelling to the sky because they just didn't have it in them to catch the illusive killer giving them a run for their money.

 

Burying the parents of Virginia Peters, the killer stood up and made his way over to his Jeep Wrangler, getting into the driver's seat and pushing his foot on the gas pedal before he'd even shut his door. Smiling, he drove off into town with a glint in his eye and a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, revenge a beautiful tune in his ears that blocked out the sound of the radio as he came face to face with the Singer household coming up on his right. Parking across the street, he picked up his leftover bowl of popcorn and looked through Dean Winchester's bedroom window, smirking as he watched the boy wrap his left hand up in gauze.

 

Soon, he was going to get his revenge on that motherfucker. He would make him take the fall for his crimes, bringing about a barrage of pain and misery that would eventually make poor little Dean cave under the pressure. Then, when the police are closing in on him, he'll confront the teenager by reigning down his own brand of bloody vengeance that'll make even the gods jealous.

 

It will be glorious.

 

It will be insanity.

 

It will be a murder to remember.

 

  
_Just you wait, Dean_ , he thought to himself. _Your ass is mine._  


 

 

 

 

 

_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


 

_  
_   


_  
_   


_  
_   


 

 


	6. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to reconcile with his brother, which leads to a huge confrontation, Bobby finds out Dean has become a suspect, and John finally returns from his hunting trip.

_In and out. In and out._

Sam could practically feel his heartbeat return to normal at the sound of his brother's even breaths and he hated himself for it. Waking up after a nightmare like the one he'd just had was bad enough, but reverting to his old self and running to big brother for comfort when he was supposed to be past that nonsense was about as low as he could get. It was like no matter how much he wanted to despise the older boy, to yell and scream and blame him for his lost innocence, he still ran to the bastard when times got tough. He still took pleasure in the sight of him, in the sound of him, in the  _smell_ of him. He couldn't escape his love for Dean, no matter how hard he tried. It was as if they were bound to one another, a fate which Sam had a very hard time accepting, considering the dark past that paved the way for their dysfunctional relationship to form. That, combined with the emotional rollercoaster Dean had put him through all these years, was supposed to be reason enough for Sam to throw in the towel and walk away from him forever. It was supposed to give Sam the strength he needed to say goodbye and move on. It was supposed to be so much, and yet it was nothing. All it did was leave him with a need for Dean so strong, it was tearing him apart.

But hey . . . at least Dean got to sleep like a baby while Sam stood brooding over his bed like the creepiest kind of stalker, watching his unconscious form with growing trepidation as he tried unsuccessfully to prevent himself from sliding under the covers and into his brother's big, strong arms.

_Damn him._

"Dean?" Sam hissed, poking at his brother's arm with his index finger.

Dean's eyes snapped wide open, pupils searching the room until they locked on Sam's.

The room was insanely quiet. Too quiet. Sam wasn't sure how many minutes had passed with the both of them staring at each other, but when Dean finally spoke, his face lit up with such wonder that Sam had to resist the urge to smile.

"Sammy?"

"Can we talk?"

Dean bit his bottom lip. "Uh . . . y-yeah, sure."

Sam watched Dean slowly rise from the mattress until he was sitting on it, never taking his eyes off his little brother as his legs swung over the side. Sam watched his hands clasp together in a way that Sam knew from experience meant Dean was trying very hard to keep his hands to himself. Sam watched the fluttering of his eyelashes, the slight catch in his breath, the sweat forming on his brow . . . these things meant something, something Sam didn't want to believe.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer, not wanting to hear it from his brother's lips.  _Why did I ask?_

Dean's usually stoic demeanor didn't seem to exist in the present moment. Sam knew that much. His body was too tense, his breathing too labored. All of the reassurances Sam had about them returning to the way they were disappeared the moment he walked in Dean's bedroom and felt the same guilt and shame that had plagued him all those years ago. That his brother appeared to still be in love with him didn't help.

_DAMN HIM! Why can't he just let it go so we can be normal brothers again? Why?!_

When the war Dean seemed to have going on inside his head quieted down long enough for his attention to zero in on his brother, Sam hesitantly began to speak, putting his head down so he didn't have to look Dean in the eye.

"Dean, I . . . I've thought a lot about our relationship. I thought about what you said to me a couple of days ago and . . . you were right about you always being there for me."

Dean swallowed hard. Sam pretended not to notice.

"I think that it's time I forgive you for everything that's happened in the past. Not so much for you . . . but for me. Keeping all of that anger in is detrimental to my health and I just-just can't do it anymore. So-"

Wait a minute," Dean replied quietly. "Angry? Forgiveness? I'm not following here, Sammy."

 _Not following._  Sam could feel his anger growing, but tried to keep calm. "C'mon, Dean. Please, don't play dumb with me. I'm not in the mood."

"Sammy-"

"IT'S SAM!"

Dean's mouth clammed shut. Sam was breathing erratically from his nose, body shaking with suppressed rage. All of the years he'd spent feeling like everything that had happened to him was somehow his own fault, that Dean's mistreatment of him was well warranted because Sam must have somehow asked for it . . . it was all coming back to him. His anger at Dean because he also knew the fault  _didn't_ lie with him came back. The tears and the pain and the regret came back. The longing for his brother, despite all that had happened between them came back. It made him feel guilty once again, and that guilt was what finally managed to set him off.

"I am just about at the end of my rope with you people." Sam spoke through gritted teeth, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. "Dad's never around, but you are. You think that's supposed to make me feel better? Well, I'm sure it probably would have back in the day . . . but not anymore. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to me, Dean? Do you? You have put me through HELL. You know, I remember the night you first took me in your bed. I remember it like it was yesterday."

Oh boy, did he remember. How could he not? The scene still played in his head over and over like a horror movie, each scene mocking him with its detestable existence.

Sam pushed the memories aside, looking down at his brother with so much anger, the entire bedroom turned red. "I remember being a sweet, innocent little boy who looked up to his big brother like he was a hero. After all, Dad was never there. He was always out hunting monsters that I didn't even know existed until you pointed them out to me. He wasn't there to feed me or read me stories when I had a bad nightmare. He wasn't there to put up with my bullshit and give me the last bowl of Lucky Charms. He wasn't there to accept the Christmas gift I got for him or to teach me about girls. No, that was my  _awesome_  big brother.  _You_ were the one who was always there for me. You were the father I never had and because of that, I looked up to you. It was you I ran to when times got tough because I was under the incredibly foolish assumption that my hero Dean would never hurt me. Well, I know you think you didn't, but you're so fucking wrong that it makes me sick.  _You_  make me sick. Every single time you came into my room, I had to fight the urge to throw up. I started feeling like I didn't deserve the life I had because I was sick enough in the head to sleep with my fucking brother."

"You wanted it too, goddammit!" Dean screamed, tearing himself from the bed. He got up in Sam's face, but his little brother had grown up considerably in the four years they'd been apart. He no longer towered over Sam, for which Sam was grateful. But even though Dean now had to look up to see his brother, he still had more experience in combat, making him considerably more intimidating.

Sam tried his best to hold his ground and not step back out of fear, but Dean was proving to be just as formidable as he ever was when he was angry, yelling his argument so loud, Sam could feel the vibrations from his deep voice in every inch of his body.

"Have you forgotten all the times you came in my bed begging me to fuck you?" Dean roared. "You're pretty much accusing me of raping my little brother, so we might as well talk about all the times you fell on my dick and rode my ass like I was a fucking horse. If I was such a sleazy goddamn pedophile then how is it that you managed to spend enough nights approaching _me_ and coming to  _me_  when  _you_  wanted to get off?"

"I was drunk off our father's beer bottles when I came to you!" Sam retorted hotly. "Do you honestly think I would have went to your dumb ass  _sober_? Couldn't you smell the alcohol on your twelve-year-old brother's breath? Or were you too excited by the prospect of fucking a kid who shares your DNA to notice?"

It was a low blow. Subconsciously, Sam knew that. What his anger prevented him from realizing, however, was the possibility of Dean's violent reaction to the attack on his character and the questioning of his so-called love for Sam. It was this miscalculation that resulted in Sam's less than gracious fall to the floor as Dean punched him square in the face, cupping his hand over his broken nose while the blood escaped through the slit in his fingers.

Dean had never hit Sam before. In all the years they'd known each other, not once did he ever raise his hand to his baby brother. It shocked Sam, shocked him so much that all he could do was stare up at Dean in surprise, expression quickly turning to anger when the gravity of what the older boy had done finally sunk into Sam's confused brain.

Hurried footsteps made their way up the staircase, but Sam hardly noticed. The only thing coursing through him was a deadly combination of pain and uncontrollable fury, spurred on by Dean's lack of understanding as to why it was Sam hated him so much. Luckily for Dean, Bobby stormed through the doorway just in time to catch Sam as he lunged for his brother in an unrestrained frenzy, wrapping both arms around the boy's chest to prevent him from going after a man who could take him out with his hands tied behind his back.

Bobby stood with an armful of Sam, mentally cursing himself for leaving the boys alone once again without supervising their visits. Hell, he didn't even know why it was Sam wanted to be around Dean in the first place. All he knew was that he needed to defuse the situation he suddenly found himself in, and he needed to do it fast.

"Sam!" he scolded. "Calm the hell down, boy!"

"I'll kill him!" Sam screamed. "I'll kill him!"

Dean watched Sam with a look that reminded Bobby of a child he once knew who was caught stealing money from his grandmother's piggy bank. He looked so broken and ashamed that the gruff hunter didn't have it in him to yell at him for Sam's erratic behavior the way he'd originally intended. Instead, he decided the explanations could wait until  _after_  he'd tamed the wild teenager in his arms. He thought it was a good plan too . . . at least until Sam stomped on his foot hard enough to make him lessen his grip on the boy's body.

"Goddammit, Sam!" Bobby cursed.

Sam used the distraction he'd created to elbow the old man in the nose, running out of the room before anyone could stop him. Dean screamed for him, but Bobby was too focused on pressing his palm against a tooth he was pretty sure was now broken to notice, thanks to the brute strength of one angry teen. When he'd finally managed to get his wits about him, he heard arguing coming from the salvage yard in the back.

Bobby got up off the floor and followed the sound of heated voices, distant words becoming more pronounced the closer he came to the back door. He ignored the pounding of his own heart as he stepped outside and advanced on both boys, stopping a few feet away so he could listen to the cause of the fight he'd been unfortunate enough to hear the moment he walked through his front door.

"Sam! Don't you dare walk away from me!"

Sam whipped around to glare at his brother through the sweaty bangs falling over his hazel eyes, looking so much like a feral animal that Bobby was afraid he was going to kill Dean right where he stood. "How could you?"

"I didn't mean to hit you, Sammy. I-"

"No, how could you not take responsibility for what you've done?" Sam interrupted. "Because I've thought about the past a million times, and not once have you ever come out the victim! I  _hate_  you, Dean. I hate you so much, my body shakes with it! You know, I remember what it was like for me when all of this first started. I didn't want it, but you talked me into it. You told me that that's what people do when they're in love with each other. Forget that I was no more than twelve when it all started. I knew it was wrong. I knew it and I  _still_  let you do it because you were all I had. I thought about telling dad so many fucking times, but I just couldn't do it. I-I couldn't let you go. Dad was never there and all I had was YOU! If I were to give you up, dad would have sent you away and I would have been left behind in some sleazy motel just like always. The only difference is that I would have been all alone. I wouldn't have the one person I counted on to never hurt me. Because of this, I allowed the shit you were doing to me to continue. I spent the year before I became a teenager with nothing more than an absentee father and a pervert of a brother who just couldn't seem to stop screwing me."

The atmosphere surrounding the salvage yard was heavy, the air thick with feelings Sam had spent too many years trying to keep locked up inside of himself. It was all coming out now, though, and it made the boy feel naked and vulnerable, much like the first time he found himself spread open on his brother's mattress all those years ago. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The only thing he could do was continue to shoot daggers at the man responsible for everything in his life, both good and bad, hoping against hope that the message he wanted to convey was being read as loud and clear as he could make it.

"I still love you, Dean. Does that make you happy? Would it make you happy if I told you that I craved your body the way you craved mine back in the day? I was ashamed of it, but the need was still there. I'm convinced it was because of the way you took advantage of me, though I doubt you'd see it that way. I would get drunk so I could try to justify coming to you and beggin' you for kisses, asking you to touch your little brother the way I knew you shouldn't. I figured, if I'm drunk, it's not exactly my fault. How could it be if I was inebriated, right?"

"Sam," Dean whispered, the shadow of his voice etched with pain.

"What is it, Dean? Hate hearing how the way you molested your brother caused him to share the same twisted desires you felt? It fucking sucks, doesn't it? This shame, this . . . guilt. It eats away at your soul and makes you feel like less than nothing. This-"Sam pointed his finger at his face-"is what you've done to me! My eyes are baggy because I haven't been sleeping, my hair is all over the place because all of this stress is causing me to tear the strands right out of my fucking head, and my brain is all messed up because I can't decide whether I love you or hate you, whether I'm good or bad. You've torn my life apart and I just can't make the love I have for you go away. Why, Dean? Why can't you just fucking go _away_?!"

Sam collapsed to the ground with his head in his hands, feeling like a frightened child in desperate need of his big brother's touch. He knew that he'd reverted back to the days when the only thing that could ever comfort him was standing less than five feet away, and, whether he wanted it or not-and a very large part of him didn't-he knew he needed to feel Dean's arms wrapped tight around his body, pacifying his anger with the warmth of an embrace that held more power for Sam than anything else in the world.

_I don't want it. Why do I need it?_

He'd tried so hard to be strong, to put the past behind him and start fresh. When he was at Jeremy's, he'd had this delusion that he could finally turn this crazy situation with Dean around and become the brothers they were always meant to be . . . but he was just fooling himself, wasn't he? Their relationship was never normal, no matter how much he wanted it to be, and nothing was going to change that. He was just going to have to accept that, when it came to Dean, he was always going to be destined for failure, drowning in a sea of his own despair while forever struggling with feelings he was never going to be able to quit.

The smell of gunpowder and cheap soap wafting through the air pulled Sam out of his dark thoughts. He wanted to recoil from Dean's approaching footsteps, but he found himself unable to do anything but wait in silence as his brother fell beside him on the hot concrete, fingertips tracing the skin of Sam's exposed arms.

Sam slowly lifted his head and gazed into Dean's green eyes, momentarily mesmerized by the pupils he'd watched expand so many times while under the naked body of his insatiable brother. He could almost smell the old scent of motel sheets and stale sex, prompting memories of his twelfth birthday to flash before his eyes, where birthday cakes and comic books weren't the only things Dean gave him beneath the ominous light of the full moon.

Dean reached out to embrace Sam, snapping the younger boy out of his reverie. He couldn't explain how it happened, but the touch sent a spark of panic up his rigid spine, and before he knew it, his limbs were flailing in a desperate attempt to escape his brother's grasping clutches. The struggle lasted a full minute before Dean's strength overpowered Sam's will, leaving him lax and broken, reluctantly pressed up against the man's chest as he cried hard into the fabric of Dean's t-shirt.

"Shh, baby," Dean murmured. "I got ya, Sammy. I got ya."

Sam didn't know how long they sat there, but when he felt calm enough to lift his head from Dean's body, the sun had disappeared from the sky and Bobby was gone. He wasn't sure when the old man left, but at that moment, he realized that it wouldn't have mattered. Whether he'd stayed or not, it was clear there were only two people in that salvage yard to Sam.

"I need time," Sam whispered suddenly.

Dean sighed loud and weary. "I know."

It was finally out. All that needed to be said on Sam's side was out in the open, and he wished he could have said that he felt relieved, but he didn't. He still had so much to worry about that he felt as if what happened today was just the beginning of something worse, like some other danger was out there lurking in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to sink its fangs into Sam and disappear with him forever.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He may have told Dean everything that he'd kept from him since he was twelve, but the repercussions of that still remained to be seen. After all, didn't Dean have his own side of the story to tell? He was the older one, which to Sam meant he didn't have a side. But what happened if maybe, just maybe, he did? How would Sam react to the harsh words Dean no doubt had for him? Would it bring them closer or tear them apart?

It wasn't even just about them anymore though, was it? He hadn't forgotten about the murder, or the school's reaction to it. With a psychopath running around, murdering people who tied into Dean, what would happen to their family? What would happen to Dean if those detectives finally decided that his brother was a suspect? Dean may be a lot of things, but he wasn't a killer. What if Rosa's death wasn't an accident like people claim? And how much did Dean really know about it all?

With all these questions floating around inside his head, it was a wonder Sam's sanity was still intact. But between a molesting brother that he couldn't get out of his mind and a serial killer shedding light on mysteries Sam was more than keen on solving, how much longer could he go on before this all-consuming darkness swallowed him up forever? Did he actually think he had a chance at surviving what lay ahead? Somehow, he didn't think so.

As he got up and walked away, he gave Dean one last glance that lasted a little longer than it probably should have. Whatever happened to the both of them, there was one thing that Sam  _did_  know, and it was something that he could no longer deny, no matter how much he wanted to. It was all out for the world to see, spelled out in big, bold letters that would haunt him until the day he died.

No matter what happened, Sam would  _never_  stop loving his brother.

* * *

Bobby gripped the phone in his hand with an iron fist. Word had gotten out that Virginia's parents had been found somewhere in the woods, bringing the murder count to three. An entire family murdered in a town where nothing like this was ever supposed to happen. Worse, the last person to see them alive was Dean.

"Did someone see Dean talking to them?" Bobby asked, fear rising up inside his chest.

"A witness did come forward, yes," detective Bison replied from the other end. "Mr. Singer, I'd hate to do this to you . . . but I'm gonna have to bring Dean to the station for more questioning."

"This is insane. He didn't do this. The boy is not a killer!"

"He knew each and every one of the victims. He saw them alive before they died. Rosa's mysterious car accident is being looked into because the police are suspecting foul play. My hands are tied, Bobby. There's nothing I can do."

"You don't have anything to charge him with. The evidence is entirely circumstantial and you know it!"

Bison sighed. "What I know is that he's a person of interest in a murder investigation. I can ask him to come in and if he refuses, that could look extremely bad on him. I wouldn't recommend it."

"How the hell is Rosa's death being investigated? A car killed her, Bison. End of story. What is wrong with you people?"

"Tell him to come in, Bobby. If the kid is so goddamn innocent, then he has nothing to hide."

Bobby slammed the cell phone down repeatedly, not even caring when it broke into pieces. As if the situation with Dean and Sam wasn't bad enough, now one of his boys was being persecuted for something he wasn't even capable of. What would happen to these kids if Dean was convicted? What if this killer is trying to frame him for something he didn't do? What would this mean for Dean? For Sam? For all of them?

Bobby put his hands on the edge of the counter, hanging his head in defeat as the sound of the front door traveled to the kitchen where he stood. John's face followed behind shortly after, looking so damn pleased with himself that Bobby wanted to punch him in the face. After all he'd done to those boys, what made him think he had the right to be happy when the rest of them dealt with the aftermath of the shit he put his children through? It wasn't fair that Dean and Sam were getting punished for his mistakes, and the fact that that's exactly what was happening filled Bobby with so much hate, he was surprised he found the strength to stand there without beating John to a bloody pulp.

The smile on John's lips faded when he caught sight of Bobby's sunken form. "What's the matter?"

"Where were you?" Bobby asked quietly.

"What the hell am I, your wife? I told you, Bobby. I had a hunt I needed to take care of."

Bobby scoffed. "And you certainly took your sweet ass time with it, didn't you?"

John's face contorted in confusion. "The hell are you talkin' about? What the fuck is going on here, Bobby?"

"Well," Bobby replied, lifting his head. "Your children got into a physical altercation this morning. I had to hold Sam back so that he wouldn't attack his brother, which lead to me getting elbowed in the mouth. Sam blew up on him while I watched, telling him how much he hurt him and how upset he was that he still loved him, despite all that's happened between them. He told him about the kind of father you were to him and how Dean was all he had, which made everything Dean put him through harder to deal with. I left them sometime after Sam fell to the floor crying, although I'm pretty sure he's now in the arms of your oldest son, who, by the way, is being accused of murder."

John's mouth fell open. Bobby wished that he could have laughed at the silence that followed. He really did. Instead, all he could do was smile bitterly while he allowed his friend to take in every word he'd just said, reveling in the fact that he'd managed to wipe away whatever happiness John had brought into his house.

Rising to his full height, Bobby left his wide-eyed friend stranded in the middle of the kitchen, delivering a final blow that he hoped to God he'd be able to look back on someday and laugh.

"Welcome home."


	7. Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby worries about John and the boys, Dean gets interrogated by the police, Sam has a nervous breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Working fifteen hours a day really does take its toll on you. I am overwhelmed by the amount of reviews I've gotten so far and just want to say thank you. I promise you won't have to wait long for the next chapter. Just remember to keep commenting and I'll be sure to keep updating. Cheers.

With John back in the Singer household, the tension already present in the atmosphere increased tenfold. Bobby had often wondered how it was that his best friend always managed to rip apart every relationship he'd ever had, but then he would remember how selfish and self-destructive John was, and then all the pieces of the puzzle would once again fit together as if they'd never been disassembled in the first place. It was scary to think for one second that the friendship Bobby had put so much stock in for so long was nothing but a sick joke, but it was starting to look like it more and more everyday. He was beginning to see that it was pathetically one-sided, much like all of John's relationships, and it hurt more than he cared to admit because he loved the bastard. But that love was starting to transform into something a little more unpleasant, making Bobby question the bond he'd counted on for as long as he could remember.

That wasn't even the worst part of it all. It was bad enough that Bobby's relationship with John was crumbling to the ground, but having him back was beginning to put a major strain on the boys.

Dean spent most of his time in the salvage yard or in his bedroom, doing whatever he could to keep under his father's radar. Bobby tried talking to him, but the kid was impossible. The impenetrable force that was Dean Winchester blocked all of his attempts at conversation, leaving a dismayed hunter to wonder if he was beginning to lose him the way he was losing his father. No matter what time of day it was, Dean was either fixing cars or lying on his bed in the darkness, no doubt missing Sam and worrying about him nonstop.

Bobby knew the feeling.

The second Sam knew his father was back, the first thing he did was pack up all of his stuff before practically moving in with Jeremy, calling only to check up on Bobby and make sure John and Dean weren't fighting.

Well . . . he never mentioned Dean, per se, but Bobby was smart enough to know what "is everything okay at the house?" meant in Sam talk.

Bobby found it incredible that John didn't lay into Dean the second he found out what had went on in his absence. He found it even more incredible that Sam's departure and Dean's retreat into the shadows didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have. Something was definitely on John's mind, and it was taking up such a large part of it that he couldn't even process what Bobby had told him about his two sons. It was as if he was in a dream that he couldn't wake up from, leaving his best friend confused and beyond frustrated.

To add insult to injury, Dean was in the interrogation room of some rat infested police station while Bobby sat in his study worrying about the little shit even though he knew he probably should be more concerned with Sam. But Sam was strong, and he knew that kid could get through any obstacle life threw his way. Dean, however, can't exactly talk his way out of a murder charge. He just hoped Dean was smart enough to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

Bobby let out a humorless chuckle as he imaged Walsh and Bison asking about Sam, figuring out Dean's weakness and trying to exploit it for their own personal gain. The chances of Dean keeping his cool in that situation was slim to none and he knew it.

Whatever was happening now, Bobby hoped to every God in existence that Dean came out of there unscathed. If he winds up in jail, the kids in school are going to have a field day with Sam, making that boy's life harder than it had to be. Bobby didn't want that for him, and he certainly didn't want Dean to have to take the fall for some one else's handiwork.

 _Some one else's handiwork._  That was another thing he had to worry about. Who the hell was the real murderer and did he or she have a connection to Dean? Is this all just a coincidence? Or is someone out there right at this very moment hell-bent on destroying Dean? For what purpose? Was Rosa's death a murder after all? If so, what did Dean know about it?

All these questions swirled in Bobby's head like a cyclone, leaving him as disoriented as a dementia patient. This town was starting to become a personal hell for everyone in his house. He had no idea whether they'd all make it out of this alive, but he knew this family enough to know that they wouldn't just roll over and surrender. They were Winchesters, and they never went down without a fight.

_Dammit, Dean. Where are you?_

* * *

Bison and Walsh stewed in silence as the young man in front of them sat on the opposite side of the table, staring at the detectives in a way that made Walsh feel like they were somehow participating in a battle of wills, each trying to psych out the other through protruding chests and power gazes. The air in the interrogation room was stifling, but Walsh ignored it in favor of questioning his first and only suspect, hoping against hope that the man before him was the killer he was desperately searching for.

The man's full lips curled into a lopsided smirk, green eyes turning a deep shade of emerald in the flickering light looming over their heads. "So . . . am I under arrest or is this the beginning of a kinky three-way?"

 _Great. A smartass._  "Care to explain to us how it is that you know all the victims, Dean?"

"I know the family through Virginia."

"And how do you know Virginia?"

"I used to fuck her."

Walsh and his partner exchanged knowing glances. Dean's grin widened and Walsh repressed the urge to smile back. "When did that start?"

Dean sighed, putting his hands behind his head. "A little while after my father kicked me out of the house."

Bison's ears perked up. "Yes, we've heard stories about that. Unfortunately, nobody knows the real reason he left you out in the cold. Care to explain?"

"No, not really."

The slight hostility present in Dean's tone made Walsh's gaze all the more scrutinizing. 'You're hiding something from us, Dean. What is it?"

Dean didn't answer, which only enforced Walsh's suspicions that he was being deceitful. There was something about this that wasn't adding up and the brooding detective wanted to know what it was. He didn't know yet, but he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was that the Winchester kid was keeping under wraps was somehow connected to the recent murders. It certainly didn't help that the death of Rosa Mendez reeked of foul play, being that she was the one who took Dean in after he was brutally dismissed by his father for reasons unknown to everyone but Dean and John.

Thinking of every possible scenario of why John kicked his son out on the street was tiring to say the least, but there had to be something that connected father to son, something or possibly someone worth fighting about.

Walsh ruled out Bobby. As much a part of them as he is, he didn't seem to have the kind of power it would take to rip their relationship apart. Rosa was definitely out. Bessie Jackson and her pack of gossip hungry vultures may have known the family since before Dean was born, but they definitely didn't have what it took. They were outsiders and didn't seem to be well-loved by anyone in town, much less the Winchester clan. No, if it was a person cherished enough to cause a rift between Dean and John, it had to be someone important, someone who meant more to them than anyone else in the world, someone like . . .

Of course.

"Dean, tell me a little bit about your brother."

The atmosphere in the room immediately darkened, leaving the once cocky boy wound up so tight, it was a wonder he didn't snap. Walsh could see the inner struggle to unleash the animal hiding beneath the kid's exterior, the mask of cool indifference trying so hard to twist into an expression the detective was pretty sure he wouldn't like. The reaction to Sam was a strong one, and Walsh smiled in satisfaction as he allowed the petty victory to sink into his psyche, sadistic pleasure at having gotten what he wanted seeping through his pores.

Rather than answer the question Walsh knew he was trying to avoid, Dean leaned back in his chair and put his left hand on the table, creating invisible patterns in the wood that the detective's acute senses immediately picked up and deciphered. He humphed under his breath, not the least bit affected by the 'fuck you' Dean was tracing with the pad of his index finger.

"Dean," Bison said, speaking up for the second time since this whole thing began. "Walsh asked you a question."

Dean looked up and shot them that godawful smirk. "You think we could leave him out of this?" He asked the question nonchalantly, but there was an undercurrent of warning in the inflection that made Bison smile. "I mean, what does he have to do with any of this? Surely, you don't think he was my accomplice or something."

"By using the term 'accomplice', are you, in fact, admitting that you killed Virginia Peters?"

Dean chuckled. "No. I just don't see what you're gonna get out of talking to me about my brother."

"I'm gonna be frank with you, Dean," Bison said. "I think there's a story here that you're not telling us. I've been doing this a long time and I'm not too stupid to know when someone's hiding something major from me. You want to know what I think?" When Dean didn't answer, Bison went on. "I think something happened between you and Sam. I think whatever it was gave John a reason to throw you out like yesterday's garbage. Now, you're the older brother, right? What did you do to little Sammy that was so terrible that your father saw fit to hand you over to Rosa Mendez? Did you beat him? Get him involved with drugs? Molest him?"

Bison had to hand it to the kid; he certainly was good at keeping his cool. It was too bad that the detective was so good at catching the bad guys, otherwise he would have missed the way Dean's face twitched in a micro expression that resembled shame when he mentioned molestation as a possibility for his sudden departure.

Bison's grin widened, but Dean was on his feet before he could pursue the subject. "If I'm not being arrested-which I assume I'm not, seeing as how you don't have a shred of evidence against me-I think I'll leave now."

Walsh, who was watching the scene pan out, spoke to Dean's back, stopping the man in his tracks. "We're not done with you, Dean. You can attempt to hide the truth from us all you want, but rest assured . . . we're going to get to the bottom of this shit that you insist on keeping a secret. When we do? You'd better be ready for the fallout."

Dean's shoulders trembled, but he still managed to walk away without saying a word. Walsh turned to Bison. "Did you see what I saw?"

"Oh, hell yes. I should have known that little demon would be fucking his baby brother. He was kicked out when he was sixteen. That means little Sammy was twelve when all this shit went down. This is beyond exciting. The boss would have a field day with this one. You think he's the one we're looking for?"

Walsh sighed. "He has to be, Bison. If not, we're in way over our heads. The big guy will have us screaming like a chick in a horror movie if we fuck this up again. This is our last chance, B. Trust me; there's no way in hell that little bastard is getting out of this one alive."

Bison smiled. "Just what I wanted to hear."

* * *

Roger Eaton was watching Sam from across the cafeteria. He knew this, and yet he allowed his bangs to fall over his eyes as he bit into his sandwich, looking down in a blatant attempt to ignore the little bastard. He was waiting for the kid to get up and make his usual snide remarks about Dean being a murderer, hands tightening on his food in anger. Roger didn't know it, but the crap Sam was going through made him just the tiniest bit cranky, and he couldn't help but scowl in annoyance when he realized he was about to get suspended from school for putting an asshole like Roger in his place.

_If you're gonna stir the shitpot, be prepared to lick the spoon._

The boy got up-Sam knew he would-and made his way over to the other side of the room, leaning over Sam and pouring his soda all over the Winchester's head.

A string of collective 'ooh's' erupted from the cafeteria, the satisfied snickers of the other kids making Sam's blood boil. Pop fell down his back and dripped from his hair, sticky puddles forming on the green table in front of him. Air puffed from his flared nostrils as he tried to keep his control in check, not wanting to be seen as the brother of a murderer who went crazy and annihilated an 'innocent' boy on his lunch break. It just sucked that Roger was making it increasingly difficult, laughing at his actions like the sadistic prick that he was.

"This makes you mad, doesn't it?" Roger said, chuckling darkly. "Well, that's nothing compared to how mad you're gonna be when the police fry your brother's ass for murdering that Virginia girl."

Sam took a deep breath, body shaking with suppressed rage.

"You probably helped, you little shit. Probably had a good laugh over what Dean did. Hell, you could have been the one to rape her. You couldn't get it from a girl any other way. With the way you are with your brother, I wouldn't be surprised if you were bending over and taking it up the ass like the freak that you are, Winchester. I bet you got fucked and liked it. Hey, everyone! Sam likes to have sex with his brother!"

The kids laughed and jeered, shouting the words 'brother fucker' so loud, the lunch lady had to leave her place in the kitchen to try to calm everyone down. Sam listened to the chant while looking at the floor, the tears that formed beneath his eyelids strengthening the urge to release all of his pent up anger. He'd been through so much and managed to keep his cool for so long. He couldn't do it anymore. Didn't want to do it anymore, and with those thoughts in his head, Sam Winchester finally snapped.

Before he knew what was happening, he'd turned around and punched Roger in the face. The boy took a couple of steps back, blinking profusely while putting a hand up to his cheek in surprise. When the shock subsided, he tried to take a swing at Sam, but Sam grabbed his fist and kicked him in the balls. Roger cupped his crotch and hunched over in pain, giving Sam the chance to hit him in the side before delivering an uppercut with his lunch tray that sent Roger flying in the air and landing on the ground.

Sam threw the tray off to the side, falling on top of Roger and punching him over and over. He couldn't see anything but red, that same red that blinded him when he tried to destroy Dean back at the house. Everything he's gone through flashed in front of his face: the conflicting emotions he felt for his brother, the shame for what Dean did to him, the father that was never there, the mother who died, the kids in school, the murders . . . they were all tormenting him, chipping away at his sanity piece by piece until the person that he was faded away into the darkness that was eating him alive, leaving behind only a shell, an empty vessel that would never again be filled.

Somebody tried to push Sam off Roger, but that person was brutally shoved aside as Sam ran out the door and up the block, his destination so crystal clear in his mind that he could have described the leaves on the trees. He was beyond all reason, knowing what he needed and not giving a shit that it was wrong and twisted. He didn't care that he was conditioned for this, that the comfort he sought was too depraved to ever be considered right. He didn't care that the shame would tear him apart and make him feel like he was a fucking whore. All he cared about was a temporary solution to the unendurable pain that everyone around him implanted in his broken heart, something that would get him by until the next morning when he'd hate himself all over again.

Sam reached Bobby's house and went around to the junkyard to search for Dean. When he didn't find him, he stormed up the stairs to the older boy's bedroom. With no one in sight, he did the first thing he could think of and snatched up one of Dean's dirty shirts and fell on his brother's bed, ripping his clothes off and putting on Dean's tee. Grabbing the collar and breathing in his brother's scent, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and began stroking himself, moaning quietly at the slide of his palm against his sensitive skin.

A strange moment came over Sam as he pleasured himself, where a memory of the past came shooting into his brain, creating parallels between what happened to him then and what was happening to him now. He saw the scene play out before him as if he were living in it that very second, the sound of whispers in his ears so clear that he could have sworn there was someone else in the room with him. He heard his twelve year old self moan, followed by the squeaking of bed springs as Dean began to slowly work his cock in and out of Sam's asshole, already wet and sensitive from Dean's tongue. The longer it went on, the more his past self moaned, pleasure becoming stronger every time his brother impaled him. Dean's thick shaft was dripping as he forced himself back in, groaning filthily when the action caused the lube to make a loud squishing sound.

Sam's hand sped up at the same time as Dean's hips, cursing appreciatively under his breath as the sensation amplified. His past self cried out when Dean switched angles, hitting his prostate dead on.

_"Oh, my god. Oh, shit, Sammy. Are you gonna come? Oh, god. I'm gonna do it aren't I? I'm gonna make you fucking come again. Oooh, shiiit yes."_

_"Aaaah," Sam moaned. "Dean, my ass. God, my ass. Ah!"_

_"Shit!" Dean swore, voice shaky. "My fucking cock. I'm fucking aching from your ass, Sammy. Goddammit! I can feel it inside that wet, tight hole. It's gonna be a powerful one, isn't it, Sammy? Aaah, I can fucking feel it. I love massaging those insides, makin' my baby brother fucking squirm. It's making your little hole feel so good, isn't it? Fuck, baby. God, I'm fucking my little brother. Should have done this shit when you were ten. Should have wrapped my lips around your little cock and made you come inside my mouth."_

Present Sam whimpered pitifully, yelling at the same time as the little boy he saw so vividly in his mind.

_"You're coming aren't you? You're coming on your big brother's cock, you nasty little fucker. Ooooh, yeees. Look at all that come."_

"Aaah! Dean!" both Sam's shouted.

_"Oh, yeah. Give me that come. Let me massage that come out of your hard little prick. Give it to big brother. Aaah, shit. Oh, I'm doing it. I'm fucking doing it. I'm making you come. I can see myself destroying your ass and makin' my little Sammy come. Oooh, that sound of my cock in your ass. That fucking sound! Let me hold those little legs wide open so I can see myself screwing you, see what I'm doing that's pleasuring my little fucking brother."_

_"Dean, stop! It feels too good," Sam sobbed openly._

_Dean sighed loudly. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. You're gonna make me come. Oh, yes! Keep that little ass open for me. Yes, yes, yes. Sammy. Shit, I'm coming. You're making me fuckin' come. Oooh, you little fucker!"_

"Dean!" Sam screamed, thick spurts of sticky white oozing from his slit to the back of his hand. He bit his lip as tears ran down his face, finishing himself off with a groan. When it was over, the past disappeared and left the raw truth of the present in its wake, lust fading from Sam's consciousness and replacing itself with the familiar guilt and shame at what he'd been reduced to in his time of need. He looked at himself like he didn't recognize his own body. Those hands weren't his. The come on his thighs wasn't his. None of it belonged to him. It never did. It was Dean's. It's always been Dean's.

_Dirty boy._

Sam turned on his side and curled up in a little ball, sobbing so hard, the bed shook with the force of it. He was coming home because he wanted to get fucked by his big brother. Why? Why would he want something so wrong? After everything that's happened, how could he want this? What the fuck was the matter with him?

As Sam fell asleep drowning in his own shame, one last thought flew into his head, making him frown before falling into unconsciousness.

_Why is there a Jeep Wrangler parked in the driveway?_


	8. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a horrible nightmare, Dean's conflicting feelings about his relationship with Sam take a drastic turn.

_Crack!_

Sam bolted upright at the loud peal of thunder rattling the floorboards. Looking outside of Dean's bedroom window, he could see that the sun from earlier was nothing more than a distant memory, replaced with a black sky so foreboding, he wouldn't be surprised if it suddenly decided to snatch him up and swallow him whole.

Regaining consciousness, Sam looked around at the dissarayed state of his surroundings, eyebrows furrowing when he felt something sticky clinging to his skin.

_Dirty boy._

The entire room suddenly felt too stifling. There he was, in his brother's bedroom, covered in his own come and worrying about the flash of lightning pouring down from the heavens like a sign from God, signifying divine knowledge of Sam's indiscretions. It was a horrible moment of self-awareness made fuzzy by a numb mind; understanding the situation, but having no feeling about it whatsoever. It would have scared Sam, had he been able to experience any sort of emotion for what he'd done. It was like the familiar guilt was gone, and the world suddenly felt empty without it.

Maybe he was becoming broken . . .

Another clap from the clouds jogged Sam out of his thoughts, bringing back the recollection of a certain jeep parked in Bobby's driveway. Getting out of bed, he walked up to the window and pulled the curtain out of the way, trying to get a glimpse of the ground being pummeled by the pouring rain. Finding nothing, he threw his brother's pants on- _didn't I_   _put those on before I_   _fell asleep?_ -and tried to ignore the sinister creak of Dean's bedroom door as he slowly pushed it open, taking cautious steps into the dark hallway leading to the staircase.

A bright, yellow light filtered through the house, illuminating the silhouette of his brother's leather jacket hanging by a hook on Bobby's coat rack. Beyond that was the old man's room, shrouded in darkness that even the menacing streaks of lightning couldn't penetrate. Not being able to see inside there unnerved Sam, but he continued on until he reached the stairs, trying to ignore the nauseating feeling that he was not alone in the house.

The trip downstairs felt like an eternity, but he somehow managed to make it to the bottom in one piece without breaking his goddamn neck. Irritation spread from his head to his spine, stiffening his posture like wound up guitar strings and tightening his bones until his imagination could hear them cracking under the pressure. Maybe if he was lucky, it would be a monster and he could end its miserable existence while relieving some of this tension; kill two birds with one stone and then head on back to his own bedroom and call it a night.

Yes, that sounded very appealing. Too bad he was a Winchester. They never got lucky like that.

Making his way to the kitchen, Sam shifted through the cupboards until he found the bag of salt Bobby kept by the other condiments in the pantry. Smirking at the hidden compartment tucked away beneath the bottom shelf, he grabbed a knife and a gun filled with salt rounds from a long, black box with a lock that only Sam and Dean knew the combination to, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all. He couldn't help but think that if he were raised the way children should be raised, he'd probably be all the way up to the top of the food chain by now, laughing it up with high school buddies while looking in to the best colleges money could buy. His mind would be filled with fond memories that consisted of family taking care of one another in a way that didn't resemble bloodshed, and he'd finally be able to date someone without worrying about having his older brother fly off the handle and into the frying pan, his own jealous anger scorching his skin while burning Sam's in the process.

Why the hell couldn't he just be happy? It always seemed as if there was something getting in the way of his satisfaction, didn't it? With everything that went on between John, Dean, and himself, Sam couldn't help but think that maybe the real villain in his unique situation was circumstance. John wouldn't have ended up the way he did if it wasn't for his father's bullshit or Mary's death, Dean wouldn't have ended up the way he did if it weren't for the fact that he was thrust into the role of daddy for Sam before he'd even learned how to piss without staining the floor underneath the toilet yellow, and Sam wouldn't have ended up the way he did if it wasn't for . . . well, any of it. Destiny and fate took everything their family could have made of themselves and twisted it around, making it something dirty and wrong. Evil spewed its filth all over the Winchester name because of events that destiny had in store for them, washing the crimson tide over their island until they drowned in their own blood.

What if they were never meant to be happy? Sam had often pondered the possibility of life's imperfections, cracks in the system that allowed the bad people to roam free while the good ones were doled out harsh punishments that should have belonged to the sinners alone. Maybe that was the cosmic joke of life. Maybe God just hated The Winchesters. Whatever the reason, he was beginning to question everything to the point of exhaustion. So much so, that he was starting to feel as if everything he'd been through up until this exact moment was meaningless. He'd thought that his suffering was supposed to be a stepping stone leading up to something greater than himself, a faraway place where the pain he endured at the hands of his family transformed him from a scared little boy into a well-adjusted young man with a bright future ahead of him. Apparently, everything he'd told himself was a lie. He'd only given himself an illusion, lulling himself into a false sense of security to cope with the mind numbing depression he just couldn't seem to shake off. It was a sad truth, but one that Sam was grateful for, because he finally felt like he could stop lying to himself. He may not be able to break free of certain emotions, but at least he could break free from deception. That, in and of itself, was a victory he could live with.

Distancing himself from his thoughts, Sam walked back upstairs with the vigilance of a hunter, scanning the dark rooms for any signs of life that wasn't his own. The sights and sounds of the storm ceased for the moment, eerie calm inhabiting Sam's senses while a dark omen showed itself to him in a taunting fashion, promising sweet pain. The young boy couldn't help but shiver in dreaded anticipation at what he knew in his gut to be an intruder. He knew the person existed, but where were they?

He retraced his steps and headed back to Dean's bedroom, gulping hard at the thought of someone watching him sleep. What if they'd been there the entire time, hiding in the shadows? They could have been waiting until he woke up to play a sick game with him. Any sadistic psychopath would be thrilled to get a Winchester alone if they were supernatural, but Sam wasn't getting that kind of vibe from his predator. No, this person had to be human.

But who would want to break into Bobby's house? As far as he knew, Sam didn't have any enemies that existed outside of school. Could it be one of the neighbors? Maybe they heard the gossip about his family and wanted to exact revenge on the people housing Virginia's "killer." Maybe it was Dean they really wanted.

That posed another question, didn't it? Where in the hell were Bobby, Dean, and John? Images of their lifeless corpses stacked high in some hidden part of the house tried to ease their way into Sam's psyche, but he quickly slammed the barrier between his head and his heart so the negativity surrounding his imagination couldn't distract him from defending himself. Burden or no burden, Sam couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to his big brother.

Sighing internally, Sam wiped Dean from his brain and reached a hand out toward the light switch. Flicking it up, he frowned when the action didn't bring the result he was looking for.

_Weird. The storm must have cut the power out. Figures._

"Fuck it," he mumbled, throwing the gun he'd been holding on Dean's dresser drawer. "I give up."

Just as he was about to declare himself insane and head to his own bedroom, the atmosphere in the house suddenly shifted. Thick with evil, the air hung heavy in the tiny bedroom, making it increasingly hard for Sam to breathe. His entire body stiffened, senses going on red alert as a sound bounced off the walls and into his ears, silencing the blood pumping through him with one little creak of the closet door behind him.

Sam slowly turned around, gasping slightly when he saw the door opening little by little, wider and wider, revealing the soul sucking mouth of a dark abyss ready to swallow his very existence. His entire form began to shake with fear, frowning eyebrows raising to accommodate wide, hazel eyes that stared into the darkness with growing trepidation.

When the last of the squeaks created by the door dissipated, everything went completely still. Lightning flashed without the added sound of the booming thunder, mimicking the lack of noise that accompanied Sam's soundless, jagged breathing. As he stared into the abyss, he began to realize that, as cliché as it sounded, the blinding darkness was staring  _back,_  watching him with black, lifeless eyes that seemed to peer into his very soul.

_There's someone in there._

Everything he'd ever learned about being a hunter failed him as fright overpowered his bones, keeping his feet glued to the floor. The hooded figure in the doorway, illuminated by the bright light of the storm, seemed to be getting closer, and it was only after careful observation that Sam noticed the man-yes, it was most certainly a man-stepping languidly out of the closet. Big, black boots made the floorboards underneath them groan in protest as they closed the gap between Sam and their dreadful owner.

_I'm gonna die here, aren't I?_

The cloaked man stopped dead in his tracks as he unknowingly jolted Sam out of his reverie, tilting his head to the side. Just then, a flash of light from outside shined down on his pockets, revealing the tip of a shiny blade the man kept encased inside his gloved hand.

Feeling like he needed to speak, Sam managed to stutter out, "W-who are you?"

The man chuckled darkly, something the boy wasn't expecting. The fist tightened around the weapon in his hand, and, before he knew it, Sam was ducking as his enemy darted forward, thwarting the man's chance to plunge his knife in the boy's heart. Sam immediately used his feet to sweep the attacker's legs out from under him, resulting in the man's less than gracious fall to the hardwood floor. Thinking that was a chance to escape, Sam attempted to run, but cried out in pain when teeth penetrated the skin surrounding his ankles, making him kick the man in the face with his foot.

He vaguely registered the guy absent-mindedly spitting his own blood on the floor in his haste to get out the door and out of the house. He ran as fast as his muscles would carry him, but he could sense the intruder on his heels, and it wasn't long before a hand reached out to grasp and pull on Sam's hair, leaving Sam's body to fall backwards until his back landed with a heavy thud on the concrete of Bobby's driveway.

Sam's eyes went in and out of focus as his demise leaned down to look at him, hood still blocking his face from the boy's view.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," the man taunted. "You of all people should know better than to defy fate."

Raising his arms over his head, the killer took the knife and pierced Sam's chest, twisting and turning the blade until thick spurts of blood squirted out of the gaping hole, forming a pool of dark scarlet around the silver edges of the deadly dagger. Sam gasped, wrapping his fingers around the end as the life drained out of his body. He could hear his brother's voice clearly in his head, and not being able to tell his sibling how he really felt before he died created a pain worse than any wound he could endure at the hands of the psychopath staring down at him with evil eyes that sent shivers through Sam's core.

He could feel himself fading away, but he didn't want to go. He was too young to die, too important to his brother's survival to disappear now. He wanted to fight it, wanted to break free from death's firm grip, but it was no use, and as the end drew closer, the helplessness became too much to bear, making him scream his despair to the heavens, bellowing out the only name that would ever cross his mind, the syllables forever etched into his very soul.

"DEAN!"

* * *

If there was one thing Dean Winchester hated, it was coming home to a dark house. A dark house always meant something was wrong, and when he felt like something was wrong, his mind immediately went to his baby brother.

_Sammy._

Being away from the reason for his very existence was . . . painful, to say the least, but he'd be a fool to say that it didn't have its advantages. Having Sam away from him gave him a bit of clarity on what was going on between them. It's a good thing too, because if Sam hadn't blown up on him and relinquished every single solid emotion he'd been feeling about what he'd supposedly gone through then Dean never would have been able to put two and two together when it came to the boy he loved more than anything else in the world. Sam's confession came at just the right time because he left the house soon after, leaving Dean behind to think about everything he'd said to him, and boy did it suck.

How Dean couldn't see what he was putting his brother through should have been a huge mystery to him, but the strange thing is that it wasn't. He'd always been blind when it came to that boy, and the obsession he felt for Sam overruled his senses, making him oblivious to the pain he was so obviously causing. He could blame his father for the way he was raised like he did before, he could blame his mother for dying and leaving him to raise Sam, or he could be the adult and take responsibility for his own actions. He'd deliberately waited until he thought Sam was old enough to accept his advances and he took advantage of his naïvety without even realizing it. He'd thought that Sam surely felt the same way that he did, but didn't have the kind of developed mind it took to express it. So, being the big brother that he was, he expressed it for him. He manipulated Sam, he confused Sam, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he'd molested him.

Molestation. Dean shuddered just thinking about it. As much as he didn't want to use that word to describe what he'd done to Sam, it seemed more than appropriate, didn't it? He didn't think he'd ever be able to come to that conclusion without Sam's confession or his absence. Thinking about everything now, Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam's feelings for him-and he did have them, whether he wanted to admit it or not-were natural or artificial. Did Dean create those feelings by doing what he did, or was he right about his brother always wanting him? Maybe if he'd actually waited, Sam would have come to him on his own. God, if only that were true. If his dumb ass had just waited, they wouldn't be playing this game anymore where they stare at each other with suppressed desire. Sam would be home . . . in Dean's bed.

Dean looked down at his pants in disgust. He should have known it would only be a matter of time before he sprouted a boner. After all, his entire thought process has been centered around Sam for the past forty minutes. So much so, that he didn't even realize he'd taken a shower, brushed his teeth, and shaved the faint trace of stubble he'd grown since his brother left. That kid really did a number on him, didn't he?

Exhaling slowly, Dean made his way to the bedroom, determined to will away his erection and go to bed. Halfway down the hall, he stopped dead in his tracks, confused by the door blocking his room from view, a door he didn't remember closing before he left.

_What the hell?_

A scream suddenly filtered through the wood and penetrated Dean's soul, the sound sending ripples of fear down his stiff back.

_Sam._

Dean went into protective big brother mode before he could blink, the urge to keep Sam safe sending him sprawling into the bedroom with murder in his eyes.

He was prepared for so much. He was ready to snarl, fight, break someone's bones until they begged for mercy, none of which he'd give if they'd been dumb enough to hurt the one thing he'd rather die than live without. What he wasn't prepared for was the sight that greeted him the moment his fight response diminished into full-blown awareness.

There was his baby brother, on his bed, looking so frightened, Dean could have killed whatever was responsible for putting that expression on Sam's sweet face. The boy's body was shaking violently, and his eyes were so wide, you'd think he'd just seen a ghost.

"Sammy?" Dean asked carefully, resisting the urge to take his brother in his arms.

Sam jumped, glancing at Dean in horror. After a moment, he seemed to register his brother's presence and put his face in his hands, trying to control his uneven breathing.

Unable to fight it any longer, Dean rushed to Sam's side and wrapped himself around him, gasping in shock in when the kid hugged him back and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. While Dean tried his best to bring Sam down from his nightmare, everything came tumbling down in an emotional flood and the boy began to cry, clear liquid falling from his face in salty streaks of pent-up anguish.

Time seemed to stand still as both brothers held on to each other as if any second the other would vanish in a puff of smoke. Dean could feel himself falling into the role his father had always forced him to play, providing Sam with an anchor with which to keep him glued to the floor. It was such a bittersweet moment that Dean couldn't decide whether he was relieved, disappointed . . . or just plain scared.

_Poor kid. Hasn't he been through enough?_

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, making Sam sob harder. "Shh. I got ya, buddy. I've always got you."

"I hate you, Dean," Sam whispered.

Dean's face contorted in agony, squeezing Sam tighter in response.

Dean reckoned Sam cried for about an entire hour on his big brother's shoulder, but each second was well worth the wait it took Dean to get him back. He knew being away from Sam was the best thing for him, but having the kid back in his arms was once again wreaking havoc on his brain cells. His guilt was slowly fading away, leaving behind a burning ache for Sam that sank into every bone in his sex-starved body. The idea that he was beginning to feel the way he did when he first came back was what inevitably made him push himself away from Sam as if to shield his baby from his desires, refusing to allow them to ruin the relationship he felt like he was just starting to rebuild with Sam after too many years of being apart.

He thought he'd done good. Apparently, Sam disagreed-or at least the punch to Dean's face made him believe that he did.

So much for brotherly love.

Dean stumbled backward and cupped his nose in the palm of his hand, brows knitting tightly together. "What the fuck, Sam?!"

Sam stood up with the posture of a soldier going into battle, face darkening in anger.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Dean just stared at him in confusion.

"Why the fuck do I care about what happens to you after everything you've put me through? Why do I love someone I hate? Why does the very thought of you send me into a fucking frenzy?"

Dean clenched his fists as he walked toward Sam, his own rage thickening the air around them. "Because we're fuckin' crazy for each other, Sam. Because as much as you hate me for all the things I've done, you can't fucking deny that the feelings I have for you are mutual. I'm not the only one who feels this burning fire in my body for my own brother. You feel it too. I  _know_  you do."

"I don't feel shit for you."

Dean smirked bitterly. "That's a fucking lie and you know it."

"I know it's a lie. It's a lie and I fucking hate you for it, because I wish it was the truth!" Sam spat. "I hate that I love you, Dean. I hate what you do to me. I hate how you can brutally annihilate the loathing I've spent four years building in my heart for you and replace it with a toxic love that pumps poison through my body like a fucking disease. I hate that I can love you, but hate myself for everything that's happened to me. You've turned my entire world upside down and yet I still can't get through a single moment of the bullshit you've inflicted upon me without you by my side. You're my disease and my cure, my curse and my salvation. You're too many things all at once, Dean. You're sending me on the path to damnation and the only one that can save me is you! It makes no fucking sense! Why can't you just let me go, Dean? Huh? Just let me fucking go!"

"I can't!" Dean shouted. He strode over to where his younger brother stood glaring at him and put his forehead right up against Sam's, grasping his hips and backing him up hard against the wall. The silence that followed was brief, each boy staring at the other in anger. "Don't you think I've tried, Sam? To forget about you, put you out of my mind? You think I like having these feelings for you? I want you so fucking badly, Sam."

Sam laughed humorlessly. "Then why don't you just take what you want?"

"Because you don't want me to."

"That's never stopped you before."

Dean's breathed hitched. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I wish I could just get the words out and tell you everything I've bottled up inside, but I can't. I'm not strong like you. I just . . . I just want to make things right with you. Give me a chance to prove myself. Whatever it is you think I've done, whatever mistakes I've made, I know I can make it better. You've just got to give me a chance, Sammy.  _Please_ , give me a chance."

Dean could see the wheels turning in his baby brother's head, but the direction was hidden from his sight. He couldn't tell if he was getting to Sam or making him angrier. Damn kid was so fucking stubborn that trying to talk sense into him when he got heated like this was like trying to stop a bullet after leaving a gun.

"Sam, I-"

Dean cut himself off, eyes glancing downwards.

Sam had his pants on. Why did Sam have his pants on? Suddenly, the questions he started asking himself led to more before he could stop them, each one firing rapidly from his mind in quick succession.

_Why is Sam in my room?_

_Why is Sam in my bed?_

_Is that come on my sheets?_

_Why didn't I notice any of this before?_

Dean was sure Sam could see the pensive look on his face, because the boy suddenly stiffened in his arms as if he'd just realized what Dean was now seeing. Lust bubbled up inside Dean's chest, trickling down to his cock. A tiny sigh escaped his lips as he looked back at his trembling brother, sigh turning into a moan when his yearning reflected back at him through hazel eyes that glistened invitingly under the light of the moon. Sam's breath caught in his throat, and hazel clashed with emerald in a silent battle of wills that ended with Dean moving closer, giving Sam's mouth a hesitant lick. The action made Sam whimper, and that sound was like music to Dean's ears. Without even thinking, Dean slowly brought his lips to Sam's, groaning in relief at regaining what he'd been deprived of for four goddamn years.

The slow, sensual kiss he thought he could pull off didn't last very long, all of that burning and yearning causing the pace to quicken into a fevered frenzy that had Dean sucking savagely on his little brother's tongue, wickedly basking in the fact that his precious boy had gotten sweeter with age.

"God, Sam," Dean growled. "You taste so fuckin' good. I could kiss that mouth for hours."

Sam groaned, the noise going straight to Dean's cock. He couldn't take it anymore. All those years of being away, then coming back and having to keep his distance when all he wanted to do was ravish the young man his brother had become was too much. He wanted Sam and he was going to have him . . .  _now_.

Lifting Sam up until he sat on the small dresser, Dean ripped open one of the drawers and took out a bottle of lube, shoving his pants down Sam's thighs and squeezing the contents on the boy's cock. Throwing the container on the floor, he immediately grasped the hard member in his hand, mouth watering at the sight of it. Sam's groan got louder, nails dragging down Dean's bare back hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck, baby. God, look at that prick. All those years away from each other and I still know what that dick likes."

Sam's body began to tremble from his brother's voice, fingers creating bruises in Dean's shoulders.

Dean whispered filthy words in Sam's ears so quickly he could barely understand them, the need to make the boy climax short circuiting his brain.

" _Deeean_ ," Sam whined quietly, sounding so innocent and needy it took Dean's breath away. "Dean, don't. Dean, stop."

"Fuck. Feels so nice when you moan for me, Sammy."

The more invested Dean became in pleasing his brother, the more sensual his movements became. Sam whimpers sent shivers up Dean's spine and, without a word, he fit himself snugly between Sam's legs, trying to get as close to the boy as possible. Grabbing Sam's hair, he pulled gently until Sam looked in his eyes, groaning when the lube squished obscenely in his fist.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, licking at Sam's lips, breathing in his open mouth. "I love you, Sammy."

Sam gasped, grasping Dean's shoulders. "Don't, De," he replied, looking so wounded, Dean massaged his dick harder, wanting to soothe all of Sam's pain away.

" _Ooh_ ," Sam moaned, clutching Dean closer.

_Look at him, whimperin' so pretty, just like you knew he would. Always in control of him, aren't you?_   _Feels so good, doesn't it? Don't_   _stop. Don't ever stop. Not when it feels so right._

Do it for me, baby," Dean whispered seductively, spurred on by the sinful thoughts in his head. "Yeah, like that. Hmm, look at those sweet legs. Open up, honey. No, no, no, no. Don't be shy. Open up for me, baby boy. That's it, sugar. Now I can see that sweet little shaft. C'mon, now. Let me have it all, little boy. Give me what I want, sweetheart. Moan for me, Sammy baby. Hmm, like that. Feels so good, huh? C'mon, just let it out. Come for big brother."

Sam screamed in ecstasy, coming in thick spurts all over Dean's skin. "Dean!"

"Oh, yeah," Dean moaned, watching Sam's seed spill from his aching slit. "Fuck, yeah."

Dean rubbed Sam good, squeezing out as much of his brother's come as he could. When the last of his aftershocks faded, Sam slumped against Dean's body, shaking as the older boy's hand continued to stroke every inch of his spent cock.

Dean kissed Sam's neck. "My sweet boy. You always came so nice for me, baby. Can't wait 'til I get you in my bed. Don't you worry, Sammy. De's gonna give you what you need."

God, holding on to Sam felt so good. None of his earlier thoughts seemed to matter anymore. After having this again, Dean knew for certain this time that there was no going back. He wanted Sam, and he was going to make damn sure that his father could never take the boy away from him ever again.

Sam's body started to feel different somehow; harder. Dean ignored it, so busy running kisses up his little brother's cheek that he didn't even register the boy pushing him away until the warmth of him faded into nothing, leaving behind a pain so severe, it was a wonder Dean didn't collapse from the force of it.

Sam got off the dresser and stared at Dean, terror transforming his features into an ugly grimace. The look on his face scared Dean, scared him so much that the fright turned his bones into jelly, making him unable to move.

Sam was thinking. Dean hated it when Sam thought. It only ever meant one thing.

Trouble.

"No," Dean warned. "Don't you do this to me, Sam. Don't you dare do this to me."

Tears started to well up in the boy's eyes as they darted nervously around the room, awareness replacing the lust Dean had just seen a minute ago. Dean's immobility gave Sam the chance he was so desperately seeking, and he darted out of the room faster than Dean ever thought possible, tripping over his big brother's pants while trying to pull them back up.

Willing himself to move forward, Dean finally managed to run after him, but it was no use. By the time he barged through the front door, Sam was gone.

"Sam! Sam, come back! Please, come back! I promise I won't ever do it again. Just come back! Sammy!"

No answer.

Dean fell to his knees and put his head in his hands, feeling like the biggest fool.

"Idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot."

It wasn't until later, when Bobby found him on the doorstep that he even realized he'd been crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. Yeah, you. I see you over there. You probably thought I'd never update again, didn't ya? Well, shame on you. No, but seriously, I am sooo sorry for the long overdue chapter. I've been working fifteen hours a day, so updating any sooner was pretty much out of the question. I'm finally getting a break, so the updates will hopefully be a little more frequent. The only thing I've had time for since the last chapter was Guardians of the Galaxy and let me tell you . . . if you haven't seen it, you're missing out on one of the greatest movies of all time, my friend. Anyway, enjoy this chapter (still trying to decide if I like it or not) and I hope to see you all again real soon. Until next time! :)


	9. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean confesses his feelings to Bobby, Sam's relationship with Adam becomes physical.

The bottle of whiskey captured from the local liquor store sat on a dusty desk surrounded by even dustier books, presenting its tantalizing form to Bobby with cruel intentions. Tempting him with promises of sweet release, that bottle represented the ultimate betrayal to himself and his family, yet he just couldn't seem to stop himself from bringing the rim to his lips for one more swill of his favorite poison, resenting the enjoyment that came with feeling the burn developing in his wicked throat.

He wished he could blame the depressed young man in the other room for his less than gracious fall off the bandwagon, but that would have been too easy. Seeing Dean in the state he was in the night before made him realize that the family he loved and cherished as if they were his own was becoming more and more broken by the minute, and he'd be lying to himself if he didn't say that the entire situation was making him do more than just think about drinking again.

Bobby snorted. If Dean could see him now, really see him, he'd probably beat his ass. Having a drink every now and then was ten times different from being pushed back into alcoholism, and Bobby knew that boy was smart enough to know the difference. He'd try to stop him, sure, but Bobby knew Dean had a better chance of burning in hell than saving anybody from themselves. After all, that's what every member of the household was really trying to do, right? Save themselves? How the hell was Dean going to save Bobby when he couldn't even save himself or his own brother?

It was this very thought that propelled the gruff hunter off the chair in his study and into the living room, stopping in the hallway to glance at his boy sitting lazily on the couch staring into nothing.

He cleared his throat, not at all surprised when the kid didn't so much as twitch. "Dean?"

Dean continued to stare off into space.

Bobby walked over and sat beside him on the couch, sighing in resignation. "Dean . . . I think it's time you and I had a little chat, boy."

No response.

"You know, since all of this started back when you were sixteen, we've done nothing but take care of Sam and try our best to nurse him back to health. Lord knows that boy needed some guidance, especially after being separated from the one thing he always felt he could never live without, regardless of whether or not that one thing ended up molesting him for the better part of a year."

Dean flinched as if he'd been burned, and Bobby couldn't help the relief that flooded through him at the reaction. It meant he was listening. "Point is . . . I don't think we ever really got your side of the story. I know you don't really believe you should have one. At least, may people don't, myself included. But in order for me to understand this situation, I need to hear things from your point of view. I want to know what you were thinking, kid. Back when all this happened, what was going through your mind? What do you think made you do what you did to Sam? Have you ever felt conflicted about your feelings? Or were they always there?"

Dean's closed lips remained immobile, eyes still fixed firmly in front of him.

Bobby sighed. "You have to talk to me, Dean. You can't keep all this locked up inside of you and I know you sure as hell ain't gonna talk to anybody else about it. I know Sam deserves an explanation, but I doubt he's gonna get one, so it might as well be me. Tell me everything from the beginning, kiddo. I'm not gonna judge you or kick you out of the house. I just want to understand."

For a second, it didn't look like he was going to get the answers he wanted. Dean's body language suggested he was going to close himself off the way he always did when his emotions were at stake. Damn kid was always just as stubborn as his younger brother, just in different ways. But when the young man hung his head in resignation, Bobby knew the moment he'd been waiting for since Sam was twelve was finally upon him, and his attention zeroed in on Dean faster than ever before.

"How could I have been so damn stupid?" Dean drawled. His deep voice sounded rough, as if he'd just downed an entire bottle of whiskey without so much as a night's rest.

"The hell you talkin' about?"

"Sammy," Dean replied quietly. "I should have known better, but I didn't. I couldn't. Love that kid too damn much."

The hairs on Bobby's hand stood up. "Dean, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't."

"I didn't fuck him, if that's what you mean," Dean snapped, glaring daggers at Bobby. "I wanted to. Believe me, I did. I sure as hell ain't gonna sugarcoat things for ya."

"So what happened?"

Dean hesitated. "I . . . got him off with my hand."

"Goddammit, Dean," Bobby growled.

"He got so . . . angry," Dean said, ignoring Bobby. "I thought we were past all that. I thought we could finally be together, but seeing his reaction made me realize I was wrong. He's not ready. I don't think he ever was."

"Gee, ya think?" Bobby said sarcastically. "Took ya this damn long to come up with that conclusion?"

Dean exhaled, sounding so defeated, Bobby couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "Go fuck yourself, man."

Bobby didn't know what to say. All of this happening under his roof? So much for protecting Sam.

"Just how long have you loved this kid, Dean? I mean . . . not in the way that you should?"

Dean spoke so low, Bobby could hardly hear him. "What?"

"I've loved him all my life. At least, I'm pretty sure I did. I didn't start realizing it until I was-oh, I don't know-twelve? Thirteen? We were always together. I used to get so mad when dad forced me to watch him, sometimes for weeks on end. The moment he was born, I should have known deep inside myself that he would be my responsibility for the rest of both our lives. He was just always around me. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without him knockin' on the goddamn door asking me to play with him. It drove me nuts, but I still loved the little shit. I taught him how to be a hunter. Didn't want to, but he insisted. I tried to shield him from the truth, but . . ."

"He found out," Bobby said, matter-of-fact.

Dean scoffed. "Of course he did. My Sammy always was a smart one. So much smarter than I'll ever be, that's for damn sure. He was much too inquisitive for my liking. I guess I should have known that he'd eventually get it. When he did, I did everything in my power to make sure he knew how to defend himself. The last thing I wanted was for something to happen to him when I wasn't around. Eventually, though . . . things changed. I was always protective of him, but the burning need dad instilled in me, the need to keep him safe? It shifted into something else, something . . . carnal."

Bobby's blood ran cold.  _Why did I talk him into this? I don't want to hear it. Why aren't I stopping him?_

"He was always around, Bobby," Dean said, voice cracking. "Sure, I had my girls and my booze, but not as much as I had that little boy as my brother. I was like a father to him, always takin' care of him and doin' whatever I could to make him happy, keep him satisfied. And Sammy, Sammy was so willful and stubborn. He'd fight me every step of the way, but he'd always tell me how much he loved me and how lucky he was to have such an awesome big brother. With dad gone, I had to spend every waking moment with him and somewhere down the line, I must have fallen in lust. Yeah...lust was definitely where it started. Suddenly, his big hazel eyes would look in mine and I'd notice how long his eyelashes were, how cute the blush was on his cheeks when he was embarrassed, how pink his lips were. I noticed how much of a good boy he was to people. He was sensitive and emotional. He cared for people and did whatever he could to help them. He was so loyal to everyone, but it was me he loved more than anyone else. You don't know what that did to me, Bobby. He was . . . he was all I had. How could I have not known it would turn out this way?"

Bobby closed his eyes. "Did you feel guilty about your feelings?"

"I know you think I didn't," Dean responded. "Everyone thinks I didn't. I did, though. When I first found out that I was thinkin' of fuckin' my own brother, I was so goddamn angry with myself. I felt so ashamed. I thought that I was either born wrong, or that maybe something inside me broke when mom died. Whatever the reason, I knew I had to find some sort of outlet for the shit goin' on inside my head. I began goin' off with as many of the high school girls that I could find. One time, I even brought one home. Never did dull the ache, though. All it did was make me feel even more guilty, especially when little Sammy found me balls deep in some whore I was bangin' while dad was off on another stupid hunt. He walked in and I saw him and I-I . . . I came. I came so fuckin' hard, I almost blacked out. Just the sight of him did that to me, Bobby, and you have no idea how sick that made me feel. I knew then that it was too late. There was no way to fight it. The urge just kept getting stronger and stronger. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I knew I couldn't tell anyone. How the hell would that look? How would it sound? 'Hey, dad, I was thinkin' about screwin' Sammy so hard, he'd see stars. Think you can help me with that?' He would have fuckin' killed me. I can't believe I'm still alive after all the shit that's gone down."

"He still loves you, Dean," Bobby said.

"No, he doesn't. How could he? Every time he looks at me, all he sees is what I've done to Sam. All  _I'm_  starting to see is what I've done to Sam. I just . . . I tried to fight it, Bobby. I really, really did. I did everything I could think of, but it was no use. I still had to be around him all the fucking time. Who else was gonna take care of him? I would try to push him away but then he'd get tears in his eyes and be all hurt and I'd fuckin' melt. He looked up to me. He loved me and I started thinking that maybe he had the same feelings for me that I did for him. How could he not? I was all he had. He was all I had. I was his and he was mine. Dad made sure of that. He made sure of it and I fucking hate him for it. If he'd been around more, if he'd just taken care of Sam instead of makin' me do it, maybe things would have been different. We'd be a normal family right now and I wouldn't be so fucked up in the head."

"What made you think Sam was interested?" Bobby asked, absent-mindedly sipping from the gin bottle resting in his shaking hands.

Dean's face scrunched up in pain as he looked down at the floor. "The way he would look at me. Sometimes the whole 'I adore my big brother' look would morph into something different, something I'd never seen before. For someone who's always felt like a worthless failure, seeing that look, the one that told me I was worth something, was the most amazing thing in the world. He loved me and wasn't afraid to show it. When we were watching TV, he'd climb all up in my lap and put my arms around him . . . then he'd look at me. Sammy's eyes were always the window to his soul. I could usually see whatever he was feeling in them and those eyes told me everything I thought I needed to know. Then he'd kissed my cheek and rested his head against my chest and I knew then and there I was a goner. I know it sounds crazy, but those looks meant everything to me. Everyone else looked at me like I was trouble."

"You were trouble," Bobby mumbled.

Dean gave Bobby a sad smile. "Sammy never thought so. I think that was the point. That's why all this started. He made me feel like I mattered. I often felt like my father, the person I admired most, didn't give two shits whether I lived or died, but Sammy? All he did was care. He was nurturing and funny and smart and beautiful and I just-I just fell in love with him. It was something I couldn't control and I figured that he probably felt the same as me because he always looked and acted like he did. Maybe if I wasn't constantly around someone who was the only person in the free world that gave my life purpose, things would be different. Maybe if dad was around more, or if I'd had someone other than Sam to live for, I wouldn't have done what I did or felt the way I did. I don't know. I don't know the why of it, Bobby. I just know it happened and there was nothing I could do to stop the way I felt."

Bobby sighed. "You could have changed the way you reacted."

"I was scared. I thought he had the same feelings I did, but I see now that I was just deluding myself. I fooled myself into thinking he did because knowing the opposite probably would have killed me. That boy was all I had and I knew I couldn't live without him, because if I wasn't protectin' or lovin' on him, then what was my purpose in life? What else was I good for other than takin' care of Sammy?"

 _Poor bastard._  Bobby couldn't decide whether he wanted to comfort Dean or punch him in the face for letting his feelings cloud his judgment. Somewhere deep down inside of himself, Dean must have known that what he was doing to his brother wasn't right. It seemed as if he unconsciously saw what he wanted to see so that he didn't have to fear rejection from the one person that mattered most. Whether Sam felt anything even remotely sexual toward him back then remained to be seen, but regardless of the boy's mind state at the time, he was just a child. He couldn't have consented to anything, and the trauma he must have gone through at the hands of the one who was supposed to protect him must have been a personal hell that he was unfortunate enough to fall into alone. What was even worse was that John wasn't there the way he should have been. Bobby had no doubt in his mind that their father's presence would have made a huge difference in the way the boys turned out. Having nobody but each other to rely on was what created the Winchester bond to begin with. Putting little Sammy into Dean's arms and entrusting him with the task of keeping the kid safe was the beginning of the end for those children. Dean was everything John wasn't, and that must have made Sam feel like his brother was the father he never had. Dean became Sam's everything and because John drilled it into Dean's head that he was supposed to take care of Sam and keep him safe, Sam was everything to Dean as well. Add to that Sam's gift of being the only person to make Dean realize his own self-worth and you had yourself a recipe for disaster. No wonder those poor boys were so screwed up.

"You've done a terrible thing to Sammy, boy," Bobby said suddenly. "He counted on you to protect him and you failed. No matter what the circumstances were, that was your fault, Dean. You gotta fix this. You're never gonna make things right with that kid unless you stop acting like you two were meant to be a couple."

Dean looked at him in shock, confusion, and even a little bit of shame. "I love him," he whispered.

Bobby slammed his hand on the table, making Dean jump. For some reason, the boy's words angered him, made him so mad he wanted to put his fist through a wall. He hated this entire situation so much, it scared him. He didn't know what he was capable of under extreme stress, but he did know that he was sick and tired of everything happening around him. He was sick of John acting as if Dean's behavior didn't reflect his bad parenting, he was pissed off at himself for not taking care of Sammy the way he promised, and he was pissed off at Dean for holding on to what destroyed Sam in the first place, all because of his goddamned selfishness. Before he knew it, he was on a rant that he couldn't control. Everything that he was feeling spilled out of him at once, each new revelation releasing more of the weight he'd carried on his shoulders since Dean's first day back.

"Goddammit, Dean! Is that all you can think about? Was your baby brother so good in bed that you can't even control yourself long enough to right your own wrongs? You say you love him, but I still haven't seen any evidence of it. All I see is you picking right up where you left off."

"I tried to stop-"

"I'm not finished, boy," Bobby growled in warning. Dean immediately went silent. "That kid has told you many times that he doesn't want the kind of love you want to give, yet what do you do? You put your hands on a part of his body you got no right being anywhere near! You took advantage of him once again! I'm gonna tell you this one time, kid: keep the hell away from Sam unless you're goin' to do right by him. If you really love him the way you say you do, and I have no doubt in my mind that you're tellin' me the truth, you've got to let him go. I don't mean you can't see him again. What I mean is you gotta stop treating him as if he's your lover. He's not your boyfriend, Dean. He's your brother and it's time you started realizing that, for your sake, as well as Sammy's. I love both you boys, but I'm not gonna stand idly by and watch you ruin that kid's life a second time. I don't condone what you've done to him and I sure as hell aren't going to allow you to sleep with your own flesh and blood under my roof."

Bobby sat up and went to the front door, putting on his cap and grabbing his car keys. "I'm givin' you one week to get rid of your delusions and be the big brother Sam wants you to be. If he hasn't forgiven you by then, you're out on your ass. I love you, Dean. Love you to death, but somebody has to look out for Sam. Now quit moping about and come up with a game plan. I'm gonna go look for our boy."

With that, Bobby walked out of his house and slammed the door, leaving Dean behind to wonder if he'd just ruined the relationship with the only father he'd ever known.

* * *

"Sam. Oh, fuck."

The younger Winchester stared up at the ceiling of Adam's bedroom, moaning quietly as the other boy positioned himself at Sam's entrance. How he got here, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he needed to wipe Dean from his body, and the only thing he could think to do was let his boyfriend have what he's been silently begging Sam for since the moment they met.

"Sam?" Adam asked breathlessly. "You okay?"

The guilt radiating through him was too much, but he stifled it down long enough to give his boyfriend a fake smile, licking at the boy's lips with his tongue. "Don't talk," he whispered. "Just put it in . . . please."

Adam gulped, nodding. Suddenly, Sam felt himself being penetrated. The stretch burned, but the pain wasn't unwelcome. Instead, it distracted him from thinking about Dean. In the end, that's all this really was, wasn't it? A distraction from his older brother? A distraction from the shame that came with knowing that this was his first time having sex since he was twelve years old? A distraction from knowing that he'd cheated on his boyfriend with his own flesh and blood?

"Unh!" Adam groaned loudly, distancing Sam from his thoughts. "Fuck, you're tight, baby."

Sam wrapped his legs around the boy's waist as the pain began to fade, leaving behind a pleasurable sensation that only grew stronger with every movement Adam made.

"You're so beautiful, Sam," Adam said, looking in his lover's eyes.

Sam gasped, running his fingernails down Adam's back. The feeling of fluttering butterfly wings took root inside his stomach as the threat of orgasm drew near. Adam's cock pounded into him with wild abandon, hitting Sam's prostate on every other thrust.

"Adam," Sam moaned.

Adam fisted Sam's dick and jacked him hard. "I'm gonna tear that tight ass up, Sammy. You're not gonna be able to walk right for a week by the time I'm through with you."

The sound of Dean's nickname for him on Adam's lips was like a douse of ice cold water on Sam's back. Any arousal he'd felt before dwindled down into nothing, forcing him to shudder in discomfort as his less than satisfying orgasm rippled through him without warning. Less than a minute later, Adam went over the edge and came deep inside of Sam's ass, leaving him feeling just as dirty and used as the last time he'd done this. The only thing missing was the shameful lust threatening to consume his entire existence.

The effects of what he'd just done struck Sam just as Adam began placing kisses along his neck, oblivious to the way Sam tensed in his arms.

"You don't sweat," Sam said casually.

Adam laughed. "Yeah, everyone sorta tells me that." Silence, then, "I love you."

Sam struggled against the flood of tears wanting to spill down his face, noticing how wrong those words sounded when they came from anyone who wasn't Dean. How he could still feel so much for him after everything that's happened irritated and depressed him all at once. It was like no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from his feelings, Dean always found a way to slip through the cracks of the wall he'd built around his heart and implant himself in Sam's emotions. He wanted to hate Dean, but he couldn't. The boy was too much a part of him, and it was knowing that he couldn't escape his older brother that scared Sam more than anything else ever would.

Putting a lid on his feelings, Sam looked at Adam and smiled, the little white lie he responded with making him feel like the worst kind of human being.

"I love you too."

* * *

Dean was so fed up with life, it wasn't even funny.

Cutting himself shaving, stumbling out of the shower and hitting his head on the sink, and walking around dripping wet because he couldn't find his towel was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his night. Coming into his bedroom and seeing the empty space on the mattress where Sam had been was nothing more than icing on the cake. It was as if life was determined to pay him back for all the harm he'd caused his family by making everyday tasks like keeping yourself clean feel like rocket science. If Dean could only stop thinking about Sam, he might finally get a moment's peace. Then again, there is nothing easy about being in love with your younger brother, is there?

The slamming of the front door downstairs signaled to Dean that Bobby was home, and his heart leaped with anticipation, hoping against hope that he'd managed to find the younger Winchester and bring him home. Searching furiously for his favorite pair of sweatpants, Dean's attention suddenly gravitated to something odd inside his dresser.

What the hell?

A pink sweater with lace trim was folded neatly beside his pants, blood staining the material in such a way that Dean couldn't help but gulp in visible fear.

_Amanda?_

Bobby burst through the door before Dean had a chance to put his clothes on, huffing in a panic. "Dean."

"Did you find Sammy?"

"No," Bobby said, looking so terrified, it was a wonder he didn't collapse there and then. "Right now Sammy is the least of our problems."

Dean's stomach dropped. "What happened?"

"There's been another murder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how you can have a story planned out in your head and still manage to get writer's block. Everything about this chapter sucks lmao. I literally have no excuse. It's okay, though. Next one will be much better. Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, fellow earthlings! This is the first story I've ever done, and the updates are going to depend on the comments. Keep commenting, and I'll keep updating. I've already got the first five chapters written, so let me know if you want more and I'll give it. Until next time!


End file.
